Faces (51 page)

Danny enjoyed the power he held over everyone in his immediate orbit and beyond. No one could earn so much as a fucking peso without giving a percentage of it to him, it was the equivalent to having a licence to print money. It was real bunce, and the casino he owned out there was bringing in more poke in a week than all the London scams together. Michael had really surpassed himself this time and, with his acumen and Danny Boy’s natural animosity, the deal had been done with the minimum of aggravation on all sides. The removal of a few obstacles, namely the people who had previously been in control, was already forgotten about by the majority of the people living out there.

Danny Boy was determined not to make the same mistakes as they had, namely creaming off too much money from the legitimate workers. No one could survive if the actual grafters, the people who did the day-to-day fucking shite, the mundane and boring, the actual daily toil, were not happy with their end, their earnings. That much stood to reason, and Danny Boy was aware that goodwill was the staple diet of all dictators. Without it, they were completely fucked.

He was not going to make the same mistake as the Connors; they had let their power go to their heads, and made the fatal mistake of letting him get a foothold, it had started with the drugs trade. From that vantage point, he had watched and waited until, eventually, he had forced them out. Without the drugs and the gun trade, the Connors had ended up as nothing more than muppets. The equivalent of local bully boys. Without the backing of their Arab counterparts they were reduced to flying into Gibraltar like tourists, because no private carriers would entertain them any more. That meant, of course, that the Old Bill could easily track their movements. Especially as Danny Boy had leaked their names to the relevant parties beforehand anyway. He had learned, many years before, that grassing could be lucrative. The Connors, who had somehow not been nicked or charged, had somehow disappeared, never to be heard of again. And, as no bodies had turned up, it had to be assumed they were on the run from the authorities. Minus their wives and children of course.

Spain was such a big market, and it was so lucrative that whoever was running it was accepted as the elite of the European underworld. Even the Krauts had not managed to get a toehold in Marbella, and it wasn’t for lack of trying either. The Spanish didn’t like them any more than the Brits did, and it wasn’t just over a couple of world wars and a few football games; the Germans just didn’t have the presence of mind that was required for this sort of venture.

The Spanish themselves had not been quick enough, had not predicted the British need for a safe haven and winter sun. In fact, other than the Arabs, no one had really understood its full potential. Even the Connors had never really expanded as they should have done, relying on too many other people to do the job for them. That was like giving a bank robber the keys to their local Barclays; eventually they were going to let themselves in and take whatever they could. Stood to reason really.

So, anyone going in with the money and the right connections was guaranteed to be welcomed with open arms. Danny Boy and Michael had done just that. Now it was sit back and enjoy the sunshine.

His new baby daughter had given him a new lease of life, he was on the want again, and he had not been on the want like this for many a long year. His daughter would have the world on a plate, and the plate would be worth more than most people’s fucking houses. Such was Danny Boy’s new credo. He grinned at his two friends and said nonchalantly, ‘Oh, by the way, we need to have a word with young Norman Bishop. I think he needs a bit of friendly advice.’

Arnold stood up quickly. Always the first to do a good turn, he said happily, ‘Do you want me to get him for you, or are you going to the casino?’

Danny Boy grinned. ‘You bring him to me, that would be lovely, bring him to the scrapyard, would you? I’d hate to be overheard, what I have to say to him is private.’

Michael was annoyed, the day-to-day running of things was his domain, always had been, because Danny Boy never bothered with anything once it was up and running. Even this new Spain project would be forgotten about once it was the norm; that was his strength in their partnership. He prided himself on being the one who kept on top of things. He resented Danny Boy coming in like this and not consulting him.

‘Why do you want to see him? What’s going on? He’s one of our best workers.’

Danny Boy just shrugged and said, ‘What’s your problem? I just want a word, that’s all.’

‘What about, Danny? Why do you want to talk to him?’

Michael was really angry and it showed. He was one of the only people on the planet who could express that emotion in front of Danny Boy and get away with it. Everyone knew that, especially Arnold Landers. He had watched these two at close quarters and he felt he knew the score even better than they did.

Danny Boy grinned, that handsome grin that he kept in reserve for when he wanted to keep his real feelings to himself. ‘Who are you, Michael, the fucking police? Now you’re fucking making me be a cunt. I can’t tell you now, can I? You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?’

Arnold smiled, the thought of his earn once the Spanish end started to make money was all he could think about. He was thrilled, but he was also aware, on some level, that Norman and his minions were well below Danny Boy’s notice in the general scheme of things. He smelled trouble, but he wouldn’t lay money on it. He kept his own counsel, after all, he was only on the edge of this world, the world he so desired. Once he made his mark he would ensure that his name was synonymous with fair play and hard retribution. That was his dream. His goal in life.

And, without this big mad bastard it would never come to fruition, and he knew that better than anyone. As much as he rated Michael Miles, he knew Danny Boy was the real deal, and he knew that if he wanted to make his mark, then it was Danny Boy Cadogan who would ensure he did it with the minimum of fuss and the maximum of monetary advantages. Danny knew that a good earn bought people, brought them on-side, even when they didn’t want anything to do with you. Danny Boy Cadogan knew, as
he
knew, that money didn’t only talk to most people in their world, it fucking sang them their favourite song. He felt Michael’s annoyance and, making a point of avoiding his gaze, he went to pick up young Norman with a heavy heart.

 

Ange was watching her daughter-in-law as she settled the child. She was a lovely-looking baby, and why wouldn’t she be, the parents were both very handsome. As Annie also watched the little tableau she was smiling unconsciously, her lovely face almost feral with the need inside her to produce a child herself, this little baby with her huge eyes and her innocence had created a need that Annie had not even known existed. She determined then and there that she would produce one herself; that she would be the one to give Arnold a little boy or girl. She knew her antics were well out of order and, seeing how Danny Boy was with him, she knew that it was in her best interests to see this relationship through to the bitter end. And she knew that where she was concerned, bitter end would be exactly where it would all end up, if she wasn’t careful.

Carole had left earlier, and Ange and Annie were both getting ready to leave. Mary looked fantastic. She was almost beaming, and her eyes were bright with hope and happiness. Danny Boy was finally succumbing to her charms and from baiting her, from his usual viciousness, he had suddenly become her soulmate once more. She actually started to feel as if she had a chance with him, she now saw this new baby as the means to her very worrying end.

Once Mary was alone, she placed the baby into the cot beside her bed then, opening the large bag she had packed for just such an occasion, she took out a bottle of vodka and poured a large measure into her water glass. She gulped it down quickly, terrified her husband would come in the door at any moment. She was drunk, already out of it, and she lay back on the pillows knowing that she was not capable of anything much.

This child, she knew, was the most important thing in Danny Boy’s life, and that meant she was now under even more pressure to make good. The child she had prayed would make them closer, might drive them even further apart because she would now be under the microscope that was his notice. A quick drink to soften the edges would now be out of bounds, her whole life would be pulled apart and inspected for this little baby’s benefit. She knew she had signed her own death warrant.

Mary felt the uselessness of her own tears, heard the plaintive cry of the child she loved, and who could be the cause of her mother’s demise. It hit her then, with stunning clarity, that this child would be her watershed, would inadvertently be the end of her life as she knew it.

Later, as she watched her new daughter sleeping, watched her little chest rise and fall with each breath she took, Mary understood the real role of a mother. What the big secret of motherhood was about. You looked after your child, no matter who had fathered it, and no matter how much you might hate them deep down inside. A child was there for the duration of your life and, if you were really lucky, they buried you, and not vice versa. A mother would give her own heart to ensure the child she had created would live on, would be happy to do so. Would be loved. Even if they were unlucky enough to have Danny Boy Cadogan in their corner, claiming his kinship at every opportunity.

As Mary looked at her baby, all she could focus on was the fact that she had lumbered this beautiful child with a father who was as volatile in his affections as he was in his working life. A man who was as dangerous in his loving kindness as he was in his anger and hatred. She had, in effect, given this child nothing more than a bully who would use her for his own ends, and use those very ends to torture her for the rest of her life. Mary was crying again when the nurses popped their heads through the doors, and nothing anyone said could console her this time. Her fuck-up was glaringly obvious to her, even if it wasn’t to them yet.

The happiness she had dared to embrace was now weighing her down, and making her question her judgement; how on earth could she have ever believed this child was going to make everything all right? Nothing could ever be all right in her world now, no matter how many fucking babies
he
allowed her to produce.

 

Norman looked decidedly uneasy; Arnold felt that he was being overly jovial, overly friendly towards him. Arnold wasn’t a fool, he knew that the Normans of this world loved Bob Marley but didn’t actually have a black friend. They talked a good liberal, but it was a different ball game when they were faced with a real, honest-to-goodness black man; suddenly they were nervous and unsure of a percentage of the population they had never actually met up with, or mixed with in any capacity. God bless the Catholic school system; it guaranteed a multi-racial environment for their pupils, and also guaranteed that the Danny Boy Cadogans of this world had something the majority of the country didn’t have access to; the opportunity to meet and make friends with other outcasts in British society. It was hilarious in many respects but, like everything else, it was also sad, sad and irritating. Arnold felt more English than most people; he was black, but he had been born and bred in the country he loved. Like Danny Boy and Michael, he was the product of immigrants, Irish immigrants at that. He knew that, like his counterparts all over the British Isles, he was coming into his own at long last, and he resented the Normans of the world for making him feel that he was different. That he was somehow not as fucking good.

That feeling was what had made him forcibly shove the man into his car, and caused what could only be described as a bad atmosphere between them.

Norman was fucking shitting himself, and Arnold couldn’t understand why that was. He had not threatened him in any way, shape or form, even though he had felt like it. So he blanked him, ignored him. When they finally pulled into the scrapyard he had lost interest in the ponce; Norman, who he had quite liked, was now nothing to him. He had finally revealed his true feelings and it hurt. They were all fucking on the scrump, so what made Norman think his scrumping was more important than anyone else’s?

As they pulled up outside the office, the guard dogs were snarling and barking with an intensity that would frighten a lesser mortal. It was dark, and Arnold knew there was something not right about this meet, but he also knew it was in his favour not to remark or react to that. He waited patiently for the dogs to be rounded up and housed, and then he opened the car door with a flourish that told Norman he had made an enemy for life.

Inside the office the atmosphere was charged and all four men were more than aware of that fact. Smiling in a friendly way, Danny Boy invited them both inside.

Norman knew he was in trouble, but he tried to front it out. What else could he do? He walked into the warmth and quiet with a swagger that told everyone there he was acting, he was trying to front something out. But what?

Michael watched as Danny embraced Norman, watched as he poured him a drink and sat him down as if he was a valued member of their community. Which he was, as far as anybody knew. But Danny Boy never did anything without a reason, and now all they could do was find out what that reason was.

Arnold sat beside Michael, interested now to see what this was all about, knowing that somehow he had led this stupid boy into his worst nightmare. He had already picked up on Michael’s uneasiness, and Norman was not exactly what anyone would call relaxed. But Arnold felt though, that anything that might go down on this night was not really his problem. Anyone who thought they could fuck Danny Boy off was entitled to everything they got, and more. If Norman was on the blag, then he had asked for anything that might be doled out to him in the next few hours.

Arnold sat down quietly, without any fuss. He had learned at a very young age how to blend into the woodwork.