The Last King of Brighton (13 page)

Two of Hathaway's men were on the ground getting a good kicking. The man with the chair, backed into a corner, was holding his own.

There were four men on Hathaway's dad now, and he was taking some blows on his arms and body, though he was defending his head. He was roaring. Charlie had pocketed his knife and was fending off two men with wild swings of the pickaxe handle. He looked enraged.

Nobody was taking any notice of Hathaway. He was aware of screams and crashes in the amusement arcade next door. He clutched the stave like a kendo stick, his hands body-width apart, and went for the men attacking his father.

He hit one of the men from behind in the angle of shoulder and neck with a downward swing, then brought the other end of the stave up to clip him just behind the angle of the jaw.

The attacker fell against the man next to him. Then a third turned from his father, swinging a stave above his head. Hathaway slid his stave through his hands, extended it in his right and thrust hard into the man's solar plexus. The man doubled up, and Hathaway brought the stave down again between neck and shoulder.

Hathaway heard a commotion, then a gun went off – so loud his hearing immediately went. Tommy was in the doorway, a rifle pointed at the ceiling. Two amusement arcade workers, also armed, flanked him. Everyone froze except Charlie, who was beating the bejesus out of a man curled up on the floor. Reilly grabbed him from behind and Charlie swung round, snarling.

‘He's had enough, Charlie,' Reilly said. ‘Charlie. Enough.'

Charlie slowly nodded, his breath ragged. Reilly gave a little salute to Hathaway. Dennis Hathaway kicked the man his son had knocked to the floor.

‘Right, get these guys tied to chairs in the back room.' He leaned down whilst kicking the man again. ‘You've got some explaining to do or you won't get any tea.'

‘Somehow,' muttered Reilly to Hathaway, ‘I don't think tea is on the cards anyway.'

By the time Sergeant Finch turned up with half a dozen beat coppers, the amusement arcade had been put back together. A few machines had been smashed, a lot of glass needed sweeping up.

Finch looked around, then at Dennis Hathaway. Sniffed the air.

‘Love that sea smell. Heard there was trouble up this end of the pier. Report of gunfire.'

‘Few tearaways messing about. We sorted them.'

‘Where are they now?' Finch said.

Dennis Hathaway shrugged.

‘Gone for a swim, I think.'

The dozen or so men who'd invaded the pier had all been thrown over the side after Dennis Hathaway had done questioning them.

‘Can they swim?' Finch said.

Dennis Hathaway sucked his teeth.

‘Most of them.'

Finch took off his helmet and wiped the inside with a handkerchief.

‘And the gunfire?'

‘I run a rifle range, Finchie; even you must have noticed that.'

Finch tilted his head.

‘You should be more careful shaving, Dennis.'

‘How's that?'

Finch pointed at Dennis Hathaway's shirt. It was streaked with blood. Dennis Hathaway grunted.

‘And they call them safety razors.'

Finch put his helmet back on.

‘OK, then. The chief constable might want a word about this. He likes a happy town; you know that.'

‘We're happy,' Dennis Hathaway said. ‘We're very happy.'

Finch gave a small smile.

‘Be seeing you, Dennis.'

‘Grab yourself a candy floss on the way out. All of you. On the house.'

Hathaway and Charlie cracked up when that was exactly what they did. Seven plods in crumpled shirts and white helmets, and a pile of gear hanging off their belts, waddling down the pier with pink candy floss stuck to their chops.

Dennis Hathaway looked at Reilly, his son and Charlie.

‘Right, we got some planning to do. Reilly, let's go to your place.'

Hathaway was driving an Austin Healey these days. Charlie still preferred his motorbike but left it on the pier and took a lift with his friend. They didn't speak at first.

Things had been strained between them ever since Dawn's pregnancy. The day after Dawn had told Hathaway about Charlie, he'd gone to confront the drummer. He'd tracked him down in a coffee bar under the arches near the Palace Pier.

‘What the fuck have you been playing at?' he said, standing over Charlie.

Charlie indicated the seat opposite him and blew into his coffee.

‘This is the café where Tony Mancini worked as a bouncer back in the thirties. The Trunk Murderer?'

‘I know who Tony Mancini was. What's that got to do with you putting my sister up the duff?'

‘Sit down, Johnny, for God's sake. You're looking a right prat.'

Charlie saw Hathaway's fists clench.

‘Johnny, think carefully about what you do next. If you start something, it won't stop. You know that about me. I don't stop.'

Hathaway had dragged Charlie off enough people to know that was true. He slumped down in the seat opposite Charlie.

‘I'm sorry about what happened with Dawn. It was just boy and girl stuff. I didn't take advantage of her. I like her.'

‘So you're going to marry her?'

‘Fuck sake, Johnny, I'm not the marrying kind.'

‘My dad expects you to marry her.'

‘Does he know it's me?'

Hathaway shook his head.

‘Not yet.'

‘I think she should get rid of it,' Charlie said.

Hathaway thrust his head forward.

‘You want my sister to go through an abortion? You scum.'

Charlie watched Hathaway's expression.

‘I bet that's what your dad wants too.'

‘What about what Dawn wants?'

‘Well, she can't want me as a husband if she's got any sense.'

Hathaway leaned back.

‘Well, she obviously hasn't got any sense to be with you in the first place.'

They both looked at the table. Charlie blew on his coffee.

‘Did you do it just to spite me?' Hathaway said.

Charlie looked puzzled.

‘Why would I want to spite you? We're mates, aren't we?'

Hathaway looked at him, then away.

‘Aren't we?'

‘Yeah,' Hathaway said. ‘Forget I said that.'

Under pressure from her father and Charlie, Dawn had the abortion in Hove. Hathaway took her to a posh house in a Regency terrace. The doctor was Egyptian and elderly. Dawn had seen
Alfie
and was terrified the abortion was going to be a coat-hanger job like in the film, but Dr Massiah's rooms were spick and span. Despite his age, Massiah obviously knew what he was doing.

Dawn was living back at home now. She'd given up her secretarial course. She stayed at home most of the time, her mother fluttering around her. She wept a lot.

Hathaway looked across at Charlie as they drove along the seafront.

‘Dawn talking to you yet?'

Charlie shook his head.

‘Probably as well. Your dad would go apeshit again.'

Hathaway could never predict how his father was going to react to things. He'd given Charlie a beating – broke a couple of his ribs and two fingers – then had accepted him back as part of the gang as if nothing had happened. Charlie's thing with Dawn was never mentioned again.

Reilly lived in Portslade on the top floor of a newly built block of flats. He had a five-room apartment with a wide balcony looking out to sea. They all sat on the balcony, a bottle of Irish whiskey and bottled beer on a table in front of them. Reilly had put a record on. Jazz.

Charlie gestured at the view.

‘Very nice, Mr Reilly. Very nice.'

‘Sean. Thanks, Charlie.' A motorbike roared by on the road below and the sound of its engine ricocheted round the balcony. ‘Acoustics could be better.'

‘Who's this playing trumpet?' Hathaway said.

‘I don't know but let me pay him to have some lessons,' Dennis Hathaway said, his tumbler of whiskey clamped in his massive fist. ‘Jesus.'

‘Miles Davis. He's playing modally, Dennis.'

‘That right? You and your highfalutin tastes, Sean.'

Reilly looked at the sun hanging above the horizon.

‘Whenever that sun goes down I think of King Arthur, wounded, heading off to Avalon. The Once and Future King.'

‘And whenever I think of Avalon and The Avalons,' Hathaway said, ‘I think of your furniture.'

Reilly grinned.

‘Still a good name for a group.'

Hathaway looked from his father to Reilly.

‘How long have you two known each other?'

‘We were at school together. Brentfoot Primary and up through junior school. Then Sean's family went back to Ireland and we went our separate ways.'

Dennis Hathaway reached over and lightly punched Reilly's arm.

‘Sean here gave me a right walloping once. You wouldn't have thought it to look it him but he was hard. Always been hard. That's how he got in the commandos and I ended up as quartermaster.'

‘That's cos I was stupid and you had brains,' Reilly said to Dennis Hathaway. ‘That's why I work for you, not the other way round.' He saw Dennis Hathaway's look and raised his hands. ‘OK, OK – I know we're partners.'

‘Damn right.'

‘You were a commando?' Charlie said.

Reilly nodded.

‘Where?'

‘Crete and other Greek islands. Normandy. Italy.'

‘Did you kill people?' Charlie asked. Dennis Hathaway and Reilly both looked at him and he shifted in his seat.

‘That was the general idea,' Reilly said.

Charlie looked at Dennis Hathaway.

‘Did you, Mr Hathaway?'

Dennis took a swig of his whiskey.

‘Only anybody who crossed me.'

He looked at the others.

‘We've got more legit business coming up. We're investing in the future of this town. Moving the money that we've earned in the black economy into the mainstream.'

Charlie had an odd expression on his face.

‘Am I boring you, Charlie?'

‘No, Mr Hathaway, not at all.'

‘Only?'

He grinned.

‘I quite like the illegal stuff.'

‘The Churchill Square thing is going well,' Reilly said. ‘We're renting them the diggers and demolition stuff, and only our men are working on it.'

‘How much is it worth?' Charlie said.

‘By the end of it?' Reilly shrugged. ‘A quarter of a million.'

‘With delays?' Hathaway said. ‘I presume we hold them to ransom.'

‘Never get too greedy,' his father said. ‘It causes complications.'

‘We can probably squeeze another fifty thousand out of them,' Reilly said. ‘But we're pushing them pretty hard as it is.'

‘Fuck 'em,' Dennis Hathaway said. ‘If they want to bugger up my Brighton, let 'em pay.' He glanced at Reilly. ‘Sean, you should show the lads your World War Two memorabilia.' He looked at his son. ‘He's got quite a collection. Show them, Sean.'

Reilly raised his eyes but picked up his glass and led Hathaway and Charlie back into the apartment, and into a small room down the corridor. It had a wall of windows looking out to sea. The other walls were lined floor to ceiling with books.

‘Didn't know you were such a reader, Mr Reilly,' Hathaway said.

‘I was at Trinity before the war.'

‘Is that Cambridge?'

‘Dublin, you oik.' Reilly walked over to a cabinet and switched a light on inside it. Charlie and Hathaway looked down at a collection of guns, daggers and medals. Charlie pointed at a gun.

‘That's a Luger,' Reilly said.

‘How did you get it?' Charlie said.

‘Its owner had no further use for it.' Reilly pointed. ‘That's a Webley. My gun of choice.'

‘That's an SS dagger, isn't it?' Charlie said. ‘How—?'

Reilly stopped the question with a look.

‘Lot of medals, Sean,' Hathaway said. ‘All yours?'

Reilly nodded.

‘Don't be fooled by medals. Most of them are given just for showing up.'

‘What exactly did you do in the war?' Charlie said.

‘I killed people, laddie,' Reilly said. ‘Up close and personal.'

He pointed to a dull bladed knife.

‘Usually with that.' He held up his hands. ‘Sometimes with these.' He pointed again. ‘Often with that Webley. And just occasionally with one of those.'

He indicated a hand grenade in the corner of the cabinet.

‘Is that live?' Charlie said.

Reilly nodded.

‘But it's OK as long as that pin is in.'

He led them back to Dennis Hathaway.

‘Impressed?' Dennis said.

Both young men nodded.

‘Nobody messed with Sean back then. For that matter, nobody messes with him now, if they've got any sense.'

‘Those blokes earlier on the pier didn't have much sense, then,' Hathaway said.

Dennis Hathaway leaned forward and put his glass down.

‘Let's get to that. The Borloni Brothers were behind it, as you've guessed, and that thin-faced creep, Potts, put the gang together.'

Hathaway had a flash back to a Bank Holiday Monday on the Palace Pier when he'd seen Potts seething with hate as he watched Sean Reilly depart.

‘But they were encouraged by the twins,' Dennis Hathaway continued, ‘Now, I don't want to take the twins on directly, despite what they did to Freddie, but I do want to end this stuff in Brighton.'