The Faithless (25 page)

All Jonny could do was make up for what he had done by carrying on and not rocking anyone’s boats.

‘It’s a scam, ain’t it?’

Jonny nodded. He felt Linford’s anger bubbling away beneath the surface. ‘Yes but we can rake it in with minimal outlay, and that can only be a good thing.’

Linford shrugged. ‘Sounds good. The figures look good, Jimmy said—’

He stopped himself then, and Jonny said quietly, ‘Yes, Jimmy said it was a good earner. We can mention his name, you know.’

Linford shrugged again. ‘I liked him, he was a good man.
But, like all good people, he didn’t understand how bad the world could be.’ This was the closest Linford had ever come to insulting his boss and they both knew it.

Jonny was silent for a few moments before saying earnestly, ‘Look, Linford, if I could turn the clock back, don’t you think I would? I lie awake at night pondering how the fuck I let her get under my skin like that. Truth be told, I never even really
liked
her. I can’t explain the hold she had over me, and I know that sounds weak, and it sounds like I’m blaming her, and I’m not. After she outed Bryant, she fascinated me; she’s dangerous, seriously fucking dangerous. She looks like an angel, but she’s base. She fucks like an animal – it’s almost primal. And I liked that. I know it sounds terrible, but I really liked that about her. She’s like one of those devil dogs – you know, those fighting dogs? They can turn on you at any moment, but you still want to own one. I knew no good could come of it, but it didn’t stop me. All I can say now is that my attraction to her is well and truly buried. I can’t even stand the sight of her. Did you know she had the fucking audacity to turn up for work as if nothing had happened?’

Linford nodded.

‘I think that was it. Her turning up at the betting shop really made me realise what I was dealing with. I know her, I know how she thinks, she is capable of anything. Literally anything. I’ve paid her off, what else could I do? She had to be given something, but it galled me. In my heart, I’d like to see her scrabbling in the fucking dirt, but then I can’t talk, because I’m as bad as her – worse really – because I actually do genuinely love my wife. Celeste’s forgiven me – well, sort of – and now I have to prove to her that she hasn’t backed a loser. And I will. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make her see that the only person I will ever want is her.’

Linford believed Jonny was speaking the truth and, in a strange way, he almost understood where he was coming from.
But Linford also knew that, for all Jonny’s protestations, there had also been an element of ‘I want her, so I’ll have her’ to it as well. He had taken her because he could, and he had not cared about the consequences until they had jumped up and bitten him on the arse.
Jonny
was responsible for all this mess, because it was believed in their world that men were stronger than women. That men should have the strength to turn away from temptation, whereas women were too weak to resist.

‘Well, she turned out to be a very expensive pastime, Jonny. She cost Jimmy his life, and everyone else around you two has been infected with your games. You more than anyone, because this has cost you your good name. You’re the butt of jokes and the cause of idle gossip. It will die down, but it will always be there, and you have to live with that knowledge. People love nothing more than to see the mighty fall, and you have fallen a fucking long way in people’s estimation.’

Jonny sighed heavily. Linford was honest, he’d give him that. Whoever said the truth hurt was a clever fucker, but he would ride this storm as he had others. Look at Kevin Bryant – he had taken that on, and it had worked for him up until the end. He would get through this, he was determined.

‘Well, now we’ve got that out of the way, shall we get back to work? I’m meeting with the villa geezers tonight. Are you coming or not?’

Linford nodded. ‘I’ll be there, don’t worry.’

‘Good. Now what’s next on the agenda?’ Jonny felt depressed, but he knew what he had to do was show his face and act as if everything was normal, then eventually, in the not too distant future, it would be. At least, that’s what he hoped anyway, although the way things were going, he worried it might take longer than he had first believed.

Vincent O’Casey was thrilled to be in on his first ever piece of real skulduggery. He just hoped it all went as planned. At eighteen, he was a good-looking lad, and he had a nice way about him – not pushy, but not passive either. Anyone looking at him would know he could take care of himself if the situation demanded it. He was very respectful, called people ‘Mr’ when appropriate, and he had a reputation for being good with cars, and reliable into the bargain.

Derek Greene had seen his potential and, for that reason alone, he would always have young Vincent’s loyalty and appreciation.

Vincent liked Derek. He was a man who was going places, but he listened to Vincent, and advised him on the many pitfalls of the criminal lifestyle. Vincent O’Casey came from a family of no-hopers – his father and brothers were nothing more than icecream freezers. Local geezers, thieves, sold a bit of knock-off, played the hard men to the neighbours. Talked the talk, but would need a glass to hand in a real fight. They were the kind of people that Vincent was determined
not
to be – local bully boys who thought the world began and ended on their council estate. He wanted more than that. Vincent knew he had the nous, the inborn cunning, necessary to achieve in the world he wanted to be a part of. Now he had a champion of sorts in Derek Greene, and this was his one and only chance of breaking free of his background and environment. If this all went tits up he would
be like his father and brothers – just another fucking mook from East London, a blockhead, and he was not going to let that happen without a fight.

Tonight he was washed, shaved and in his best clobber, ready for literally anything. As he drove into the scrapyard in Bow, he was whistling with suppressed excitement. He was driving an old but spotless 2.8 litre Ford Capri, which had been a nice silver colour, until he had stolen it three nights previously. Now it was dark blue, and the plates were not the originals. The plates were actually off a 4.2 litre Jag, but that was nothing to worry about.

He parked up as arranged by the side of the Portakabin and, shutting the engine off, he waited as he had been told to do. He didn’t even light a cigarette, unsure whether it would attract attention.

There were already a couple of cars there, and the lights were on inside. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he realised he was finally a real part of this world, and the pride he felt inside him was overpowering. If only his family could see him! He was on the periphery, he knew, but this was just a start for him. Once he proved himself, he would be given bigger and better jobs, and with those jobs would come the wonga and the prestige. He would make sure the O’Casey name would become something to be reckoned with.

When his Gabby was old enough, he would marry her and give her the life that she deserved. He hoped she was all right in that care home. He still felt enraged at what her mother was capable of. Even his mum – and she wasn’t up to much – looked like the mother of Our Lady by comparison. At least
his
mother was loyal to her family, would lie to the Old Bill for them, would even stand up in court and do so if need be. Not like that unnatural whore poor Gabby was lumbered with.

No, he would see to it that Gabby had a good, decent life, and he would make that his purpose. He wanted a nice little
house, and a nice little family, in a nice neighbourhood, where the kids would go to a good school, and have a bit of a chance in life. He worried about Gabby and where she was. He knew about care homes, had seen the inside of a few himself over the years. But that had been his own fault not his mum’s; he had been a bit of a tearaway as a youngster, and that had been the cause of him being put away. That wouldn’t happen to
his
kids, not on your Nelly. He would be there for his little ones, not half-pissed all the time, or in the betting shop like his old man.

So intent was Vincent on his day-dreaming that he didn’t notice that the Portakabin was gradually filling with people.

Cynthia Tailor was home alone, but that didn’t bother her – she liked being alone. She glanced around the room, and felt the anger burning once more. She would have to sell up; the house was mortgaged to the hilt, and the insurance wasn’t going to pay out.

She couldn’t believe that she was in this position, and she blamed her husband and Jonny Parker. Thinking of her sister in that enormous house, with Jonny dancing to her every whim, made her almost apoplectic with rage. Everyone was acting as if it was
her
fault – he had walked away from it without any real damage. It was so unfair. She had wanted him like she had wanted no one else in her life and she had him for a time as well. But he had been a flake, just like the rest. Now where was she? He had paid her off, but it was a pittance considering what she was used to. She would have to get rid of this place and start again. Even Cynthia knew she couldn’t stay around here after what had happened. But then maybe getting a fresh start was what she needed. She could buy a nice flat somewhere while she was still young enough and still good-looking enough to attract attention from men.

As for that daughter of hers,
she
would need her one day and, when she did, Cynthia would take great pleasure in shutting the door in her face, just like it had been shut in hers. Her mother and father were dead to her – they had acted as though
she
was the main culprit. But then Jonny was still keeping them, so they
would
have to take his part in it all. Like Celeste, they would do whatever he told them to do. Well, he would rue the day he dumped her as well. Just who the hell did he think he was? She still loved him, though. He was the only man to ever make her feel alive, and she would miss that more than anything.

She could feel the tears coursing down her cheeks, and she brushed them away angrily. For the first time in her life she knew what it was to lose someone she cared about, and she didn’t like the feeling one bit.

Cynthia glanced around the room, remembering when they first came here, seeing the kids when they were still small enough to do as they were told, before they turned into a pair of scheming bastards like their father.

James had killed himself to spite her, she was convinced of that. Deep down she thought he had done it to teach her a lesson. She grimaced through her tears. Well, he had wasted his time, because she felt no guilt where he was concerned. None whatsoever.

She wiped her eyes carefully, then she went up her beautiful staircase and ran herself a bath. She had never been one for regrets. Instead, she would do what she had always done – look after number one.

Smiling now, she sank into the scented water, and planned her next move. The past was the past – she had a future to look forward to, and that future was going to be as a young widow with no kids, no ties, no nothing.

Fuck Jonny Parker, and fuck her family. She could get along without any of them, and that was exactly what she intended to do.

Jonny had always enjoyed the food at the Greek restaurant in Dagenham. He liked the owners and it served good food. He particularly loved the kleftiko. As he ate there with Linford Fargas before their meet about the villa scam, he pondered on how a life could change overnight, and not always for the good either.

‘Do you reckon she’ll go on the trot, Jonny?’ Linford asked.

He shrugged. ‘Who? Cynthia? Yeah, I do. She won’t stick around where she ain’t wanted. Anyway, if she doesn’t, I’ll give her a nudge in the right direction.’

Linford nodded. ‘I’ll nudge her if you like, with my boot in her arse!’

Jonny grinned. ‘She did have a great arse, I’ll give her that.’

Linford snorted, saying disdainfully, ‘No arse is worth all that, mate, not even Madonna’s.’

They were quiet again for a few moments before Linford said, ‘When’s the meet in Bow again?’

‘For fuck’s sake, Linford, how many times? Eleven thirty, at a scrapyard. We meet all the other investors then, and get the run down on how much is in place. I think there’s a chance of shifting some more gear as well. That little Derek was asking me about puff and I told him we could accommodate anyone for any amount. He seemed interested. Nice young fella, he is – I like him. But then his old man was on the up – well liked, by all accounts. Should get a walk in the next few years.’

Linford grimaced. ‘All that time behind the door. Fucking disgraceful really. I couldn’t do it.’

‘’Course you could. It’s just getting your head around it, that’s all.’

Linford didn’t answer, but he wondered how well Jonny Parker would do in the same position. The
threat
of a great big lump and actually having to
do
a great big lump were two completely different things altogether. Jonny would have an easy ride being who he was. But Linford wondered at how well he would take his liberty being curtailed. That was why his brother hanged himself, he was sure of it. He had been looking at a twenty at least, and funky Brixton wasn’t exactly hotel standard. But Jonny Parker was like a lot of the men in the game; they were too far removed to ever get a big capture. Too many smaller fish to catch before them. In a way, Linford supposed, he was in a similar position.