Faces (73 page)

Danny Boy wasn’t a fool, he knew he was a dead man. He knew that this day had been a long time coming, but that it had always been on the cards. If you lived by the sword, it stood to reason that you’d eventually die by the fucker; it wasn’t rocket science. He had just not thought his demise would be this soon and so ordinary. He had always pictured himself being shot, seen himself dying nobly, a gaping hole in his head, his chest, in a packed pub or club, with a sneer on his lips. That kind of death he could have swallowed. Could have accepted. It had all the hallmarks of a legend in the making. He could have swallowed something like that, a public execution.

But not this, he was much too young to die; he still had places to go and people to see. He had been sussed right out, and he knew that now, but it still didn’t make this any easier. All the people that he had personally despatched over the years; it had never occurred to him that they might have felt like he did now, frightened, accepting of their fate, but, more than anything else, cheated. Until now, it had genuinely never occurred to him that the people he had taken out might still have had dreams and wants; had kids that they might have wanted to see grow up and go out into the world.

That all he had done over the years, all he had achieved, was as nothing, was liable to be snuffed out here, in a filthy warehouse, without any fanfare or any prayers. He hoped his kids, his girls, would never know the truth of this. His wife, he knew, would be relieved, and his siblings would bury him with the correct amount of pomp and ceremony he would require, but without any tears, real tears. After all the drama of his life, he knew then that his death would be a shameful and humiliating experience for all concerned, especially him. He wasn’t walking out of here, he knew that much.

As Michael looked into his eyes, Danny saw the deep sadness mirrored that was in his own. He saw the love that Michael had for him, and was gratified that at least he would have that much to take with him. He finally understood the expression beggars and kings because, no matter how much money you might have, or how much prestige you acquired over the years, you would die at some point, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it. His death was imminent, he knew that because he would have wasted himself long ago if he was in their shoes. He smiled at Michael then, a magnanimous smile, and he opened his arms out wide, as if he understood the situation perfectly which, of course, he did. He felt a chill in the air, could smell the dust and the underlying aroma of cheap leather handbags and even cheaper cotton T-shirts. He looked around him then, saw Eli and Arnold watching him, knew that they were both desperate for his demise. He knew that his death would finally allow them both to rise in the world of criminals, would guarantee them a place beside Michael, running the businesses and sorting the monies. It seemed crazy now, to think that, even after his death, the businesses would still go on regardless, that the world would not stop on its axis because he was gone from it. He wasn’t even contemplating a way out of it all; Eli had a machete which he was brandishing happily, Arnold had a long-bladed knife, a fine piece of weaponry from its carved bone handle, its ultra-sharp blade. Everyone was well tooled up, except him.

Michael and Danny looked at each other once more, and Danny Boy said gently, ‘We had a good touch, Michael, we made it to the top of the tree. We are Faces, real Faces.’

Michael nodded, understanding his friend’s words. ‘Yeah, you got what you had always dreamed of, Danny Boy. You’re a Face, a well-known and respected Face.
The
Face, in fact.’

Danny said quietly, ‘Are you going to do it? You going to take me out?’ He was glancing around, instinctively looking for a way out. He saw that Eli’s brothers had slipped in behind them and were tooled up and ready to go. He felt strangely gratified that they were mob-handed, that they deemed him so dangerous. It catered to his inflated opinion of himself and what he felt he was capable of. But no one wanted to talk, and he felt the sudden and desperate quiet weighing down on him like a stone. The atmosphere was almost electric; they all felt it, felt the heaviness in the air, saw Danny Boy tense up as if waiting for his chance to let rip. Louie shouted at them then. His nerves were shot and he was sweating profusely, terrified that Danny Boy would either talk his way out of this dilemma or worse, fight his way out of it. He knew he was more than capable of either.

‘Kill him, for fuck’s sake, just get it over with, will ya! What you waiting for, a fucking film crew?’

Then Louie started coughing, the coughing of old age; it was heavy and wet and the phlegm he spat out was like a piece of rubber. It broke the moment, and Danny Boy went for him like a Rottweiler on Hurlimans. ‘You treacherous old bastard.’

As Danny ran across the warehouse floor, he saw Louie trying to dodge him, and he grabbed at him tightly, pulling the man towards him with all the strength he could muster and then throwing him on to the floor. Louie fell down heavily, his bones screaming with the pain of his advanced years. Michael saw Arnold and Eli descend on his old friend. As Eli sliced him across his face with the machete, opening it up like a watermelon, Arnold forced the blade of his knife between Danny Boy’s ribs, stabbing at him repeatedly, forcing it up into his heart. Michael watched in morbid fascination as Arnold brought a machete down over and over again onto Danny Boy’s head and shoulders. Opening him up, slicing him up as if he was a piece of meat. The blood was everywhere, seeping out of all his wounds and, even in death, with his life’s blood pumping out on to the filthy concrete floor, Danny Boy still looked the part. He still looked like a Face, even though, ironically, he was now without one. It was the sheer size of him, the sheer presence he possessed that caused this illusion. Even in death he had an arrogance that was almost tangible.

Michael was amazed at how Danny had accepted his fate, had not even really tried to fight for his life. Not how he could have anyway. Danny was capable of a real tear-up when the fancy took him. But, looking at him now, a bloody heap on the filthy floor of the warehouse, he knew that Danny would never have been able to live down the shame of being exposed as a grass. Eli ripped open a box of T-shirts and started to wipe his bloody hands on them; the irony was that they had a cannabis leaf on the front with the words, ‘Keep Off the Grass’ written underneath.

Arnold was staring at Danny Boy’s corpse in fascination; it seemed unreal that it had taken so little to destroy him. To finish him off once and for all. Such a huge personality, such a dangerous man, had been wiped off the face of the earth with an ease that reminded them of how effortless death could actually be in the right hands. How quickly death could render even the most fearsome of antagonists harmless.

Michael helped Louie up from the floor. He was obviously in a great deal of pain, but the old man was also elated at the outcome of this day’s work. For the first time in years he felt he could really relax. Could finally unwind. He had finally extricated himself from what had been his worst nightmare. The two younger Williams boys had both lit joints, kingers packed full of skunk, the smell already permeating everything around them. The absolute quiet that had descended on them earlier was back once more. Only this time it was tinged with a feeling of relief for everyone concerned.

Louie hawked in the back of his throat again and spat into what was left of Danny Boy’s broken and bloodied face. ‘I told you, Danny Boy, what goes round comes round.’ Then he started to cry, his shoulders shaking with his guilt and his sorrow at what had taken place. He had loved this man like his own once, and that could never be forgotten. Michael hugged him, and Louie pushed him away roughly. ‘He was a cunt! But he was a fucking
Face
. I told him he had no need to take shortcuts, but he wanted it all at once. Like you all do. None of you can wait for anything these days, you want everything immediately. It’s why it goes bad, why you end up like this.’

He pointed at Danny Boy then. ‘You all want too much too fucking soon. You don’t want to earn anything upfront. Wait in line, get your creds. It all has to be
now
. This fucking minute.’ He was trying to compose himself, but the waste of a life was just hitting him. His fear was death, and he was an old man. To see so much strength and so much energy snuffed out seemed outrageous.

Eli shook his head sadly. The adrenaline was abating now, and he was feeling relaxed again, hungry.

‘Relax, Louie, this had to happen at some point. He was a fucking grass, a fucking two-faced dirty scoundrel. Now, go home, old man, go home and forget all about this.’

Michael was still in shock; Danny had always seemed so indestructible and to see his carcass, bloodied and destroyed, was an enormous event. Yet, at the same time it felt like nothing.

Eli sighed. ‘You got the petrol?’

Arnold nodded, then laughed as he said, ‘Yeah, ’course I have.’ Michael motioned then for Louie to leave and, as he walked out behind him, he said sadly, ‘This is the end of an era. Danny Boy Cadogan found dead inside a warehouse full of hookey gear with a bent Filth lying beside him. It’ll be a nine-day wonder.’ Then, turning back to face them all, he said, ‘I’ll leave you boys to get the bonfire going. I need a drink and a few hours’ kip before the cabaret starts.’ No one said a word, just waved nonchalantly, and started what was classed as the clean-up operation.

 

‘Are you OK, Ange?’ Mary’s worried face was hovering over hers, and she wondered how they had got her onto the sofa.

‘I feel fine now. I just came over a bit queer, that was all.’

‘I’ve phoned an ambulance, just lie there and take it easy.’

Ange pulled herself up; she could hear the genuine worry in her daughter-in-law’s voice and was grateful for that, but she said in panic, ‘
No!
I don’t need an ambulance, I feel fine now. I swear to you, I feel OK.’

She was already in a sitting position, and Mary saw that she was actually looking much better.

‘I had a terrible pain in me chest, like a knife, but it was probably just wind. I feel fine now. Please stop the ambulance from coming . . . I feel such a fool.’ She was pleading with her daughter-in-law to not make a fuss. But she did feel fine now, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders.

‘Are you sure you’re OK? Why not let them just give you the once-over when they get here, eh? Just to be on the safe side.’

The last thing Mary needed was her husband’s mother dropping down dead and him hearing that she had cancelled the ambulance. That would go down like a lead balloon. But, that aside, she liked the old cow; in many ways they were alike, they both lived around the moods of a man they hated while at the same time, they depended on him. The ambulance arrived then, and Mary went to let them in, happy that the decision had been taken out of her hands.

Epilogue

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death . . .

- John Fletcher, 1579-1625
Valentinian

Mary and the girls were sitting in the front of the church; they looked lovely, everyone remarked on how good-looking the girls were. Both had the same delicate features as their mother, and the quick, sarcastic wit of their father. They were dressed, as always, like little princesses, and they sat with their heads held high and their backs straight. Mary had a thing about deportment and she looked down on them with pride, a small smile playing on her lips.

‘Move up, let Nana sit down.’ Ange slipped in beside them, and they grinned as she passed them each a small bag of sweets; she winked at them as if this was all a great conspiracy. Mary pretended not to notice and the girls were thrilled to be part of something so secretive and so exciting. Mary had even allowed Gordon to sit with her family. Now her husband was dead, it seemed pointless to carry on with the grudge. Her wedding day was so long ago, a lifetime gone. Carole and Michael smiled at the little tableau, Carole holding her new son in her arms by the Baptismal font, as Arnold and Annie took their places beside her. The church was packed out, everyone who was anyone had attended and, as the priest began the service, a hush descended quickly. Mary looked around her then, and felt the full force of her new-found freedom. It was as if her life had started all over again when her husband was murdered. She had played the part of the grieving widow to perfection, and now she was emerging from her chrysalis at last, and people were pleased to see her finally getting over her tragic loss.

The police had their opinion about what had happened, and she had hers; Michael and the local Faces had theirs, but no one really gave a shit any more, it was old news. All she knew was that her girls were happy, and so was she. It was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she felt like a teenager again. A seriously rich teenager, who could now do exactly what she liked, when she liked, and with who she liked. Unfortunately, men were not on her agenda, and never would be. She hated them, not all men obviously, only the ones who she saw as a threat. The ones she knew gave her the eye and daydreamed of fucking Danny Boy’s widow. They had more chance of getting a blow-job off John the Baptist, though they didn’t know that. People said Danny Boy had spoiled her for other men, and she nodded in agreement. He had managed that all right, only not in the way people thought.

She still woke in the night, sweating and trembling as she remembered some of Danny Boy’s more outrageous demands. And she remembered how he had nearly drowned her, had helped his own babies vacate her womb, and laughed at her tragic countenance. He saw her love for those poor children as a weakness but was terrified of her having a son, even his own son would have been seen as a threat eventually, she knew that now. But to be able to spend money as she liked, feed the girls what she wanted, use every room in the house, was better than winning the lottery. She had a mobile now as well, something Danny had never let anyone in his orbit possess. He had been convinced that a mobile could be traced, could be used against you. Although in her case, she knew it was because he didn’t want her in contact with anyone without his say-so. His birds had all turned up at the funeral; a couple had even brought their kids and she had been really nice to them. People remarked on that still. But she had actually felt sorry for them, because he had left no provision for them or their kids in his will. It was all hers, with her brother Michael as the executor. Well, Michael had given her the fucking lot, and she had not offered one of his whores a fucking bean for their kids. Why should she? They had fucked him knowing she was his wife, had bedded him in the hope that he would find them a better option. She had been unable to do anything about it while he was alive, but dead she could smile and be nice, and inside she could get her revenge absolutely by doing nothing for them. They had been left high and dry, skint and used, well, welcome to what had been her world. Danny Boy had even questioned the grocery bills, had made her explain every penny she had spent to him in graphic detail and this after he had presented her with a piece of jewellery that was worth thousands.