Faces (65 page)

Up until now, Michael had managed the damage limitation, but it was getting harder and harder to make good with the wronged parties each time something happened. Danny Boy had taken out a Filth, and that would not be forgotten lightly, even by the bent coppers they dealt with on an almost daily basis. It was impossible to have an organisation of their stature without the hidden approval of the government agencies. Everyone needed money these days, and money was something they had in abundance. Since Spain, they were worth more than most multinationals and they lived well, but not too well of course. No need to advertise their success, it was enough that they knew the extent of it without the taxman and such like wanting a large slice as well. They would one day live like kings and enjoy the benefits of their wealth. That was something for the future though, when they were well away from here and well away from harm.

Unfortunately for them, a lot of the Old Bill they bankrolled had the annoying habit of wearing their new-found wealth like a badge of office. It was this that could be the cause of them being investigated by their poorer, less flamboyant, contemporaries. Their ostentatious way of living could cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people and this needed, on occasion, to be pointed out. A Rolex or brand-new Merc didn’t go down too well in a police station or its car park. And, unless someone in their family had died and left them a fucking huge legacy, there was no way of explaining their good fortune away. It brought the spotlight down on everyone, and that was not good for business. Why they couldn’t just ferret the poke away for a rainy day, he didn’t know. It was as if some of the younger men concerned couldn’t wait to fucking show off their new acquisitions to their workmates. Workmates who could, and would, put them away for a long time. Not exactly the most intelligent of beings he knew, but they had their uses, otherwise they wouldn’t be on the payroll in the first place. He also understood the allure of a few quid, how it could affect somebody who had never before had so much spare cash hanging around. That was human nature, and that was what they relied on to recruit these people. Money, huge amounts of it, was what they reeled them in with, and what so often caused their demise. It burned a hole in their pockets, and that in turn could burn a hole right through their heads if they didn’t take the advice to keep a low profile and stop the spending sprees, when offered. It was the downside of sudden wealth, it made people greedy, and he had also noticed how fast they spent their initial payment, and how quickly they came back for more of the same. How they were willing to do more and more for the chance to grab a couple of grand once again. Personally, he liked the gamblers, they never had the money long enough to flash it around and, if they won, they could put their good fortunes down to a horse, a dog or a card game. It was becoming a real problem though, keeping it all in hand.

This was another reason that Michael had asked young Arnold to meet him here; he was about to have a showdown with someone who could be very useful to them in the future but who needed a seriously threatening word of advice in his shell-like, before he fucked it up for everyone. Himself included.

As if on cue, Detective Inspector Jeremy Marsh walked into the pub. He was a tall, thin man with a long face, big yellowing teeth and a fashion sense that defied belief. He looked, for all the world, like a pimp on his day off. From his blow-dried hair to his hire-purchase signet ring, he looked what he was. A complete and utter fucking idiot. He had on a suit that was as expensive as it was noticeable, the more so because it was at least two sizes too large for him. That, Michael assumed, was due to the cocaine habit Jerry boy had acquired in the last six months. He had the glassy-eyed look of the snorter, the man who didn’t use it to enhance his daily life, or even keep him awake over and above his designated bedtime. This was a man who used it to get out of his box.

Sighing, Michael saw the signs of the paranoid person, all the signs that said this man was beyond any kind of help or friendly advice. He saw someone who was well on the way to saying goodbye to life as he knew it. Plonking himself down on the chair opposite them, Jeremy Marsh smiled widely, his huge mouth stretched to its widest capacity. Not a pretty sight at the best of times, his crazed eyes and coke-sweat made him look even more uninviting to the less drug-inclined of their community. He was wired for sound, of that there was no doubt. He was almost dancing in his chair, the jagged movements overemphasised as he attempted to light a cigarette and order a drink at the same time. The hand holding the lighter was waving towards the crowded pub as he tried, unsuccessfully, to place a cigarette into his mouth.

Leaning forward in his own chair, Michael whispered, ‘In case you ain’t noticed, this is a pub, so you’ll have to walk up to the bar, mate. They ain’t got waiter service in here.’

Arnold watched the little scenario with interest as he knew was expected of him. Michael had obviously brought him here to witness this and he was determined not to miss any of it. That this man was off his rocker was apparent, that he was a Filth was a given; he had the look of an Old Bill from the hair down to the thick-soled shoes. He was clearly a friendly one, and obviously here for the bad news.

Michael’s body language at this moment was not conducive to a friendly chat and a cheery wave goodbye. He was coiled, ready to spring, and this man was so wired he had not even noticed. Standing up, Arnold said quickly, ‘I’ll get them in. What do you want?’

Marsh looked up at him as if noticing him for the first time. Which they all knew was the truth of the situation. He was gone.

‘A Remy, large.’ He had finally lit his cigarette and this pleased him no end. He held it up to Michael’s face as if he had just worked out Einstein’s theory of relativity on the back of a matchbox.

‘Monkey see, Monkey do, eh? We have a few of them in the force nowadays. Good to see you’re an equal opportunities employer. Everyone needs cannon fodder, eh?’

As Marsh spoke, he was picking imaginary pieces of lint from his suit jacket, the fingers holding the cigarette were yellowed and burned, and he had the exaggerated movements peculiar to addicts.

‘That monkey, as you called him, is Danny Cadogan’s brother-in-law, and one of
my
best mates. I don’t know what you’re fucking snorting, Marsh, but I hope there’s a painkiller in there somewhere, because you’re going to fucking need it with your big mouth.’

Jeremy Marsh was sobering up by the second. His brain had taken on board the fact that he had just insulted his hosts; and it occurred to him that he might not be making the best of impressions. That he had been up all night, and was still on the sniff, was now making him nervous. His coke-induced arrogance was dissolving by the second and being replaced by coke-induced fear. Everything around him was heightened, from the noise of people talking to the colours on the fruit machines. This also pertained to his emotional state. Now, he was shrinking visibly, as the fear took hold.

Arnold came back with the drinks and, placing the large brandy on the table in front of Marsh, he was surprised when the man thanked him humbly. The bravado seemed to have left him, and he looked dejected now, a broken man. He wasn’t surprised when Marsh necked his drink in two gulps. Arnold could see a cokehead from sixty paces; he had lived among them all his life. And this was a cokehead of Olympian standards. This was a man on the edge and something had been said since the man had come into the pub, sat down, attempted to light his cigarette and been the recipient of a free drink. Whatever this was, it had the desired effect. He was a shadow of his former self and Michael looked, for all the world, like a man willing to do murder at the drop of the proverbial hat.

As Arnold sat down himself, he was surprised when Michael said to him seriously, ‘Bring the monkey out to the car.’

Then he got up and left the pub without a backward glance.

 

Danny Boy was upset and, as he waited patiently for his guest to arrive at the yard, he pondered this latest mystery that was his life. The girls’ reaction had thrown him, especially the baby, Lainey’s. It had made him realise that the loyalty he had instilled in them was working against him. That they saw their mother as a viable option over him and all
he
had to offer them was unbelievable.

Yet he knew that, whatever Mary was, and she was a lot of things, a drunkard, slag, fucking pain in the arse, the girls worshipped her. He liked the fact that they didn’t want to stay at Michelle’s, he could see their point there; she was a fucking accident waiting to happen. Far too emotional for his liking. In reality, she was already dead in the water, an also-ran. She had the saggy belly and stretchmarks that generally heralded his retreat from them and their clutches. He would pay for the kid, he knew what he had to do, but other than that, she was already nothing more than a fading memory.

He liked the girls, always had done. He didn’t love them though, except for the first few weeks. Then, once he had them, he lost interest in them. The only one to ever really get him going was Mary Miles, and that was because he knew, deep down, that she hated him. Hated him almost as much as she loved him. She loved him as the father of her children, the same children he had forced from her body with violence and intimidation and the same children he now worshipped and adored. It was strange really, that these two girls of his could engender such deep emotion inside him. Not just because he wanted them to prefer him over their mother which, he admitted, was a big part of his interest in them. But because, all that aside, he saw them as extensions of himself. Little Danny Boys who would one day be grown women, would one day produce children that would have his blood in their veins. Like Methuselah, his house, his bloodline would go on for generation after generation. For maybe nine hundred years. It was a sobering thought.

God knew what he was doing; he knew that when He created a dynasty, it needed strong bloodlines, and he was strong all right but, in many ways, Mary was the stronger of the two. She needed to be to cope with him and everything that came with him. And he was honest enough to admit that, of all the Michelles and other young girls he came into contact with on a daily basis, none of them could hold a candle to her really. She had something they would never have, the strength needed to cope with a man like him. She was still there, drunk as she was, she was still there when he came home and it was this loyalty that kept him from destroying her, even when he felt like it.

Mary was actually a lot more with it than people gave her credit for, and she was a good-looker, a class-dresser and, more to the point, she knew when to keep her nose out of his business. He had seen the way she reacted when one of his paramours was within her vicinity. She didn’t even glance in their direction, she acted as if she was too good for them, that she had too much pride to even notice their existence. No wonder the girls had so much heart, they were their mother’s daughters, all right. Danny felt a sudden nostalgia come over him, and remembered his Mary when he had plucked her like a flower from the man she had been so unhappy with but who she had been so determined to marry. She had opted for money over love, and who could blame her? The men in his world found love cheap and cheerful; they kicked wives to the kerb without a second’s thought, women who had stood by them through thick and thin. It was the nature of these beasts and their women knew that when they took them on. It was why they kept themselves in good nick and were exemplary mothers and home-makers. It was also why it was preferable, for the men they snared, if they had a working knowledge of the legal system. Who wanted a wife who would be silly enough to let the Old Bill in without a fight?

But, even with all that, he knew that Mary had got under his skin more than any other woman in his life to date. No matter what he did to her, or said to her, she kept it to herself. Even her brother, his closest friend, didn’t have an inkling about what actually went on behind the large double doors of their home. He treated her like trash, he knew that, yet she still let him into her bed. He had a good one there in many respects, and he knew that better than anyone. Though often it took events like this to remind people of just how lucky they really were.

Danny saw the lights of a car approach the office and stood up expectantly; he could hear the dogs barking as they were rounded up and caged so his visitor could make his way inside without being ripped to pieces.

A gentle tapping on the door brought a smile to his face. He liked good manners, had always appreciated people with the grace and common decency that seemed to be so lacking in most of the population these days. Opening the door with a flourish, he said jovially, and with a laugh in his deep voice, ‘Come in, my son. Make yourself at home.’ Danny gestured for him to take a seat.

Donald Hart entered the room with obvious trepidation and with his best clothes on his back. This was evident not only by their newness, but by his uneasiness as he sat down. They looked stiff and uncomfortable, and so did young Donald. He had made the effort though, and Danny Boy appreciated that, it showed respect, not only for him, but for the boy in question as well, because it proved that he had respect for himself. Something that Danny Boy knew would always hold him in good stead as far as he was concerned. After all, for all he knew, he was here to get a fucking larruping, a fucking smack for his cheekiness in knocking Jonjo out. He couldn’t have made a better impression if he had brought him the head of the Serious Crime Squad on a platter with his dick in his mouth for good measure.

‘All right, Donald?’

The young man nodded nervously.

Danny Boy liked the look of him; he had already proved he had heart and, from what he had gathered today, the boy had a good reputation around town. He was reliable and shrewd. He also had a menagerie of siblings to take care of. He had a Jamaican father who had gone on the trot, leaving him with three younger brothers who were all dependent on him for their daily living expenses. And his mother, a very nice woman who still had the looks if not the body, was, by all accounts, very well placed, thanks to this son of hers. She had a small business that she ran from her home that this boy had provided the initial money for; a cleaning operation, employing a lot of women who needed work. He also helped her with everything from their mortgage to their shopping bills. She was also known for her generosity to people down on their luck, or who might be in need of a safe house for a few days. And she was also not averse to having someone bailed out to her address if the need arose. She was an all-rounder who had passed on her values to her eldest child.