Serious People (5 page)

John Blake followed his brothers through the open front door of Zebbie’s After Dark Club; all he could think about was Emma’s disapproving face as he trailed his brothers through the empty club. Nick was leading the way; he displayed a lust for confrontation in moments like these. It was one of the many things John found more than a little disturbing about his youngest brother.

Billy stopped and turned back to John, “Where the fuck is Zebbie?”

John shrugged, hoping that Zebbie would somehow not be here. It would no doubt lead to a show of anger and frustration from Billy and Nick, who would probably tear the place up a bit. But it might also give him more time to talk to his brothers. Even if it wasn’t right now. The brother not doing the collections for weeks was bound to have some consequence with Charlie O’Neil, and no matter what Auntie Mary may think, this was not going to be good. John still held out some hope he could talk his brothers out of this work for Charlie, especially if he could speak to them away from Mary.

There did need to be a plan B though; for if he couldn’t talk them out of the work, or in case they did find Zebbie and things escalated beyond his control. He would obviously then have to get involved in his brothers’ violence; this would be the least that would be expected. But shortly after this, when tempers calmed, he hoped there'd be an opportunity to escape back to Emma. Sure, he would have to make a weak excuse and suffer Billy’s jibes, but this was all worth it to return to Emma. Then perhaps that would be the sign, the sign that he was gone for good. He’d tried one last time to put his younger brothers on track; but in the end it was too late—they were both fucked. Neither of them had any idea where he and Emma lived, and he trusted Roy, the only one of his family who did know his whereabouts, to never tell them. So how would they find him? They’d have no way; he’d be gone. Free. Free with Emma.

“What?” Billy snapped at Nick, who had disappeared around a corner and then broken into a cackle of laughter.  “What’s so bloody funny?”

Nick’s head poked around the corner and beckoned John and Billy to join him. John sighed; plan B it was then.

“Come on! Let’s go,” Billy said, punching John’s arm.

John nodded back and watched Billy hurry around the corner; his brothers’ eagerness to find the nightclub manager made John shudder. He could see how this could quickly go wrong. If Charlie O’Neil had found Zebbie first, then it was certain the manager would have complained that the Blake brothers hadn’t been to see him for weeks and this would mean they would all be in trouble with O’Neil. Billy, unable to take any kind of verbal from anyone, would then snap—all he’d see would be an opportunity for aggression.  The thought of just running out then and there quickly went through John’s mind. But this was broken by the image that so regularly came into his head. His mother, ripped to bloody pieces, crumpled into a corner. A young Billy and Nick looking on horrified. This experience had affected them all for life; his two younger brothers were broken. He bit his lip and followed Billy around the corner.

John and Billy walked around the corner and into the main nightclub hall to see the owner, Zebbie, lying on the floor, tied to a chair looking battered and bruised. Nick was laughing hysterically at the sight of the broken nightclub manager; there was a gleam of delight in his eyes. John could barely remember him looking happier.

“Don’t... just... stand there," Zebbie said, struggling to speak through a mouth full of broken teeth.

“What the hell happened?” Billy sounded concerned; this wasn’t something John was used to hearing.

“Help... me... up...”

Billy turned to Nick. “Help him up Nick.”

Nick nodded and lifted the chair, with Zebbie on it, back to its feet.

“Now who the hell did this to you?” Billy asked.

“Who... did... this... to... me...?" Zebbie stopped spitting out some pieces of tooth. "You did! You and your useless brothers did this to me!”

Billy looked unsure for a moment. “What are you talking about?” he said.

“What am I talking about? Where have you been? You haven’t been here to collect for weeks. But, I thought, they must have it under control—that it would be disrespectful to call you. So I just waited. But you never came!” Zebbie said, looking around accusingly at each brother.

“Now Zebbie, don’t cross the line. Remember who you’re talking to here. If you carry on shouting at my brothers and me, you might make me angry,” Billy said, with biting aggression.

John looked at Billy. He could feel the situation start to develop just as he had feared; he looked at his two younger brothers and he hoped that he didn’t see that kind of anticipation in their eyes.

“Zebbie just tell us who did this. We represent Charlie O’Neil and whoever did this will pay,” John said, hoping to put more control back into things.

Zebbie tried to smile.

“What?” John quickly asked, before Billy could respond with more aggression.

“Mickey the Bag,” Zebbie said, grimacing through swollen lips.

“Mickey the Bag? We work for Mickey…” Billy said, almost stammering over the words.

“Not anymore. He left a message for you; you’re done,” Zebbie said.

“We’re done…?” John said. His mind starting to fill with thoughts of the opportunities this might bring. Freedom.

But Nick suddenly screamed, pushing Zebbie’s chair back to the floor. The nightclub manager winced with pain.

“This can’t be right,” Billy said, as if thinking aloud.  He was shaking his head. “This wasn’t how Auntie Mary said it would go.”

“You’re finished, get out my club!” Zebbie shouted from the floor.

Nick delivered a heavy kick to Zebbie, who winced with pain. Nick screamed at the ceiling, like a child would do when a favourite toy is taken away.

John put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Billy, we should go. We need to get the hell out of here. Mickey might be on his way back.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we kick the shit out of Zebbie,” Billy said focussing on his new prey.

“No, there’s no need…” Zebbie cried out.

Nick jumped on top of Zebbie, pulling his knife out. His face now wearing a crazed expression; the pleasure of delivering imminent pain to the nightclub manager was plain to see on his face.

John stared into the mirror behind the bar in Blake’s Bar. He knew he shouldn’t be here. It was after ten at night. Emma wouldn’t be interested in any explanation. He’d be lucky if the chain wasn’t on the door and he ended the night asleep on the porch.

He looked across to Billy, who was sitting nursing a glass of whiskey, with Auntie Mary opposite him with her hand on his, shaking her head in concern. John knew that he couldn’t have left straight after the incident at Zebbie's. He had hoped that the violent beating the brothers had delivered on the nightclub manager would have worked out the pain that they were suffering; but he had been wrong. Billy had been sat—not speaking—with his glass of whiskey for over an hour.

John had tried to get him talking on the way back to the pub, to get him to see the opportunity that this set back gave them. It was a sign, he said. A chance for a new beginning. But Billy didn’t say a word in return.

John turned to the corner of the bar, where Nick was watching the TV on the wall, laughing at an old episode of
Friends
. Small mind small pleasures, he thought. But in the reflection on the TV, John saw his Uncle, who as usual was stood behind the bar. Roy was shaking his head; at that point no words were necessary.
You shouldn’t be here. You should be at home with Emma.

“This could be turned into an opportunity boy!” Mary said, looking at her favourite nephew.

Billy didn’t reply.

“Charlie O’Neil’s going stale. If he wasn’t, he would have picked up on your missed collection a long time ago. I think it’s time you stood up to him Billy!” Mary said, shaking Billy’s hand. “This could be fate.”

John shot a look back to Billy. He could see his mind processing, savouring every one of Mary’s words. What she was suggesting was crazy. Anyone who stood up against O’Neil was a dead man.

“Billy. This could also be a different type of opportunity. We could turn our attention to this old place. We could try to turn it around. I bet if you put your mind to it, you could put this place on the map as a proper commercial venture,” John said awaiting a response.

“What are you talking about John, I always knew you were weak minded!” Mary said, turning to Roy. “This is your fault; he gets this weak skin from you!”

“Tell them about the man that came round last week,” Roy said, looking up from the glass he was polishing.

“They don’t need to know about that silly man!” As usual Mary simply dismissed the words of her husband.

Billy now looked up. Despite his sickening loyalty to his Aunt, he always wanted to be in control; he needed to know everything that was going on. John could see by his face he had no idea what Uncle Roy was talking about.

“Tell the boys how they could all share a bloody fortune right here—with no risk attached—tell ‘em!” Roy added. He was undeterred by Auntie Mary’s anger, his tone almost threatening.

“What? What’s going on?” Billy asked, looking squarely at Mary.

“Fine, fine!” Mary said, glaring at Roy. “Some man came round the other week, saying he wanted to buy this place.”

“Buy this place?” Billy repeated.

“Tell ’em it all, he said it would be a bloody fortune!” Roy snapped.

“You can’t believe these little men in their pin stripped suits. They’ll tell you anything you want to hear.” Mary said, not making eye contact with Billy.

“This place, however run down it might be, the man said, is in Hammersmith. And Hammersmith is on the way up. They all wanna live here now. Knock down the old place, put up a block of new fangled apartments—they’d make a killing. You boys could all make a killing!” Roy continued.

“A fortune?” Billy said, seemingly unable to take it in.

John could see his opportunity. He had never seen Roy make a stand like this before; it had to be real. He could see a chance to move on, with his brothers safe and secure.

“And you know Billy, he’s not even given a figure. That means it must be real money,” John added. “Just think what you could do with that much money. Listen, I wouldn’t even need a cut. You could split it three ways. One part to you, one to Nick and the rest to Mary and Roy. I reckon you could get a mini fortune each. I mean—to hell with O’Neil if you had that money in your pocket!”

John looked at Billy and could see it was making sense to him. This was money, it could be real money like none of them had ever seen. I turned to Nick, who was still transfixed by the TV, oblivious to any other conversation.

“Oh I knew you’d do this,” Mary snapped at Roy. “You couldn’t keep your trap shut, could you? You think Billy would think about selling this pub, the pub his Ma worked to a bone to pay for; the home he was brought up in? The home where his poor Ma breathed her last breath? You do not know the meaning of family!”

“But Auntie Mary, Ma would want us to be happy…” John said, trying to reason with the old woman, though he knew it was futile.

“I tell you something, this pub gets sold over my dead body!” Mary replied, almost screaming.

“Auntie Mary,” Billy said putting his hand over hers. “We will never be selling this pub. Ma’s here; she’ll always be with us here.”

John’s heart sank; how could Billy pass up this cash. His hatred for Mary was stronger now than ever before.

“And you,” Billy said looking at Roy. “You will
never
get involved in Blake business again!”

“Billy! Uncle Roy’s done more for this pub then any of us. If it wasn’t for him we’d all have ended up on the streets as kids!” John snapped.

He couldn’t help himself now. Roy had summoned up all his courage to question his evil wife and John couldn’t just watch and see him knocked back down—even if it meant challenging Billy head on.

Billy stared back at John for a moment, as a predator would stare down a weaker animal. A smile started to spread across his face; John suddenly felt uneasy.

“If you weren’t my brother,” Bill said, still smiling. “I would take that glass out of that old man’s hand, who calls himself our uncle, and stick it in you throat.” He paused. “Do you understand?”

John found himself nodding. He saw Nick out of the corner of his eye, now interested in the conversation. His smile matched that of Billy’s.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you,” Billy said.

John knew better than to say anything more; this was not an empty threat. He glanced across at his uncle, who just shook his head.

“Good,” Mary smiled. “I’m pleased we cleared that up. No we can focus on the matter at hand; Charlie O’Neil.”

“Yes Charlie O’Neil. He has to pay for how he’s insulted our family. Sending a skivvy like Mickey the Bag to leave such a message for us—that he didn’t need us anymore. Who the hell does he think he is?”

Mary smiled.

“We know his business. The money from the clubs and bars is nothing to him. His real cash comes from dealing with those South American wankers,” Billy said.