The Life (12 page)

Peter Bailey looked at this man, his brother, his closest kin, and he knew he was speaking the truth. It had taken a lot for him to say what he had said, because Daniel had never once seen his colour, only that he was his brother, and he loved him for that. Daniel had always had his back, of that there was never any doubt. What was in question was Daniel’s ability to make enemies without discrimination, to cause upset and discord without thought for the consequences. Peter shook his head sadly as he said seriously, and against his better judgement, ‘I’ll give you what you want, Dan, but on one condition.’

Daniel didn’t answer him, he just stared at him, and Peter saw that his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

‘You can have the debts and the bets – all the bets across London – and we will work side by side. I don’t want to row with you, Dan. I just want you to see that we have to box clever, make you understand that we can’t be seen to be weak in any way. I
want
you beside me, for fuck’s sake, Dan! You’re my brother. But we have to be on the same page. You have to be seen as a sensible head. No more fucking mindless violence; we have to be men who are seen as trustworthy, reliable, to be seen as able to work in tandem, so people know that we are a real partnership. If we can’t achieve that, Dan, then you can go your own way now. You have to see what’s at stake here. You have to make sure you do not fuck up again.’

Now he had tears in his eyes too, and he knew that Daniel could see them. He hoped against hope that tonight had cleared the air, and they could both move on.

‘You can rely on me, bruv.’

Peter hugged his younger brother, could smell the aroma that was so peculiar to him: Acqua di Selva and Palmolive soap. And prayed that he had done the right thing. As much as he loved his brother – and that had never been in question – Daniel was not a man who could be trusted to make sensible decisions off his own bat. He needed guidance, and Peter would have to watch him like a hawk because of that. They would start with the debts and the bets; let Daniel prove himself there and everything else should fall into place. After all, they were brothers, bonded by blood, and nothing would ever change that.

Peter Bailey was uneasy. It seemed that his brother was running true to form. He’d only been back in the fold a couple of weeks and already people were on the blower complaining about him, his attitude, and his aggression. Luckily, the people who were complaining were not people he had any real interest in. And, anyway, he had bigger fish to fry. Like Alfie Clarke, for example. Alfie, so the gossip went, was double dealing. He was still supplying the Baileys with drugs, but he was also supplying the very people they themselves were selling on to. He was going straight to the dealers, and side-stepping the middle men. Peter would see it as a good move if
he
wasn’t the middle man. Not only had the earn gone down considerably – a fucking irritation in itself – but the principle of it really offended Peter Bailey.

He had thought Alfie Clarke far too shrewd to think he could get away with something so fucking basic; he had not believed it at first because it was so fucking outrageous, and so blatantly a piss-take, he had been hard pushed to accept the truth of it. But then Daniel’s words came back to him:
I’ve heard he’s mugging us off. So are we going to take that?
It seemed his brother had been right about Alfie Clarke all along.

Delroy had brought him the news; he’d been as dumbfounded by it all as Peter was. Delroy, though, had noticed the gradual slide in the weekly take, and he had decided to investigate. It
had not taken him long to find out the score, and then he had made it his business to pay a late-night visit to a certain Essex wide boy by the name of Robbie Jennings. Robbie had been only too pleased to tell Delroy the whole sorry tale.

Robbie Jennings was a young man, and a foolish one at that. He had not understood the seriousness of his offence, though Delroy had apparently disabused him of that notion. He would be drinking his food through a straw for the foreseeable future.

What to do now, though, was the real melon scratcher. Alfie Clarke had to be reprimanded, and he had to be reprimanded in such a way that people would remember it, and know that it was because he had pushed his luck with the Baileys. Delroy had suggested giving the job to Daniel, believing it would give Daniel a chance to prove his worth. Furthermore, knowing Daniel as they did, Alfie Clarke would get his comeuppance in a spectacular fashion.

Peter nodded to himself, his mind made up. Delroy was right.
This
was where Daniel really shone; he loved any reason to prove himself, and this would be perfect for him. He would make sure that he was in a public place when it all went down; after all, if Daniel went too far, there was no reason for them both to get a capture.

‘I can’t believe we’re off to Spain, Ria, it’s like a dream come true. And just what I need before Tania’s Christening. All the arranging has worn me out! Shame the boys can’t come out with us though. I was looking forward to all of us being together, like old times.’

Lena was packing Tania’s case as she chattered and Ria was glad that she couldn’t see her face. Peter had no intention of going away with Daniel, and he had said as much. They were still not right, and she knew from what Imelda had gleaned from Delroy that it was not going to get better any time soon. She lifted Tania up and hugged her; she was a dear little thing. ‘I tell you what, Lena, we’ll have a nice girly one, eh?
I’m
glad the boys aren’t coming – we can just relax and do what we like without them. Let’s face it, when they come all we ever do is cook or go out to bars so they can have their meetings; at least we can do what we want if we’re on our own. Anyway, Peter wants me to look for a bigger villa, and we can do that in our sleep! I know exactly what I want – an older place with an orange grove, you know? Somewhere really beautiful with a bit of land, room for a pool, a real Spanish hacienda, with marble floors, big hardwood doors, shutters . . .’

Lena laughed at her friend’s excitement; if she knew Ria she would already have a place picked out! She’d have been furnishing it in her mind for months. ‘You are a case, Ria! How
often are you out there? You’ve already got a villa, and it ain’t exactly small, is it!’

Ria shrugged in annoyance; it irritated her that Lena never saw the big picture, but was happy to just jog along. ‘It’s an investment, Lena. Spain is already a big holiday destination – people are not content with a week in Bognor any more. They want guaranteed sunshine, and Spain is as cheap as chips once you get there. They pour your drink straight out of the bottle – no optics, no fucking weights and measures like here! Marbella is beautiful with the sea and the beaches. You should talk Daniel into buying a place. I tell you, Lena, you will make your money back on it. I love waking up to the sun, looking out at the sea while I’m eating my breakfast, and then walking into the town for a bit of lunch. It’s what we have worked for, mate; for me it’s my reward for all those years of childrearing. I go out there and I relax completely.’

Lena closed Tania’s case. She understood what Ria was saying, and she quite easily had the means to buy a villa out there if she wanted to. But she was still tortured by the fear that their lives could collapse around them at any moment. Her fears were in no way assuaged by the fact that Daniel and Peter seemed to be permanently at loggerheads these days.

No, Ria was an amazing woman, and she loved her dearly, but Lena knew that her expensive lifestyle wasn’t for her; she would never be able to rest if she didn’t have her nest egg. But she decided to be amenable to the idea – on the face of it at least. ‘You’re right, Ria, I should have a nose around for a little place. I think it would be lovely to have somewhere to take Tania for her holidays.’

Ria smiled. She really hoped that Lena
would
buy a place of her own – if ever anyone needed a bolt hole, she did.

Alfie Clarke had a set routine these days. Every morning he put his little son into the passenger seat of his Mercedes, and together they visited his different businesses. He loved to show him off, loved people to remark on his boy, how handsome and strong he was already. Every accolade heaped on Alfie Junior was a compliment to him. Everyone talked about his devotion to the lad, and they were a fixture now in the urban landscape that Alfie ruled.

As he pulled up outside their regular café on Ilford High Street, he was feeling very happy. They had a drink and a snack here every day. He unbuckled his son and lifted him into his arms and, as he went to open the car door, he felt the first prickle of fear.

A dark-coloured car had pulled up beside him, and all his instincts told him that something was wrong, that there was a problem. He turned to look at whoever was driving the offending motor, and he saw Daniel Bailey grinning at him.

As Alfie finally understood what was happening, he tried to shield his son with his own body, but he knew in his heart that it was too late.

It was all over in minutes – Alfie Clarke and his little son were both dead. Daniel Bailey had pumped eight bullets into them.

Peter Bailey was waiting for the tragic news about Alfie Clarke’s demise at one of his favourite pubs in Dagenham. He was holding court with a group of friends, and enjoying a few beers when Delroy came into the bar with a face like thunder.

Leading Delroy outside to the car park, Peter looked at his son-in-law askance, and waited patiently for him to deliver the news.

‘You’re not going to believe this, Peter.
I
can’t fucking believe it.’

Peter frowned. Assuming it had all gone wrong, he said quickly, ‘Is Daniel OK? Has he been nicked or something?’

Delroy shook his head slowly. ‘If only. The fucker did the deed all right, but he didn’t only take Clarke out – he took his little boy out as well. The mad cunt killed them both. Shot the fuck out of them.’

Peter Bailey was silent. He knew his son-in-law was telling him the truth; Delroy wouldn’t lie, and certainly not about something as serious as this. What on earth went on in Daniel’s head? What the fuck was wrong with him? This would cause fucking murders – literally. How could Daniel even
think
that what he had done would be remotely acceptable to the people in their world? He had to know that he had crossed a line, had to understand that this would be seen as an outrageous affront to everyone who knew them.

‘I’ll fucking
kill
him. I will fucking kill him myself.’

Delroy grabbed his father-in-law’s arms and, as he tried to stop the man from jumping into his car and making a bad situation worse, he was reminded of just how strong he was. It was taking all his strength to stop Peter getting away from him.

‘Listen to me, Peter! You can’t go near him – not like this. We have to think this through, we have to box clever.’

Peter knew Delroy was making sense, and he willed himself to calm down, but his heart was pounding in his chest. He could not for the life of him understand what his brother had done.

‘Daniel didn’t only take Alfie and his little boy out, Peter. He also made it his business to take out both of the Menendez brothers, the dealers who were skimming us. He took them out in a pub on Brixton High Street in full view of the regular clientele. He made sure that everyone saw him. From what I’ve heard he was alone, though – none of his lads were with him, so that’s something, I suppose. But fucking hell, Peter! He is one mad bastard.’

Peter was nodding his head, but he knew that they had to do some serious damage limitation, and do it fast. The Menendez brothers were nothing to worry about – they were both fucking accidents waiting to happen. They were going to get murdered eventually, it was just a case of when, where and by whom.

And Alfie Clarke wasn’t exactly popular – no one he knew would be willing to right any wrongs for him, dead or alive. But his little lad was a different kettle of fish. It was a fucking nightmare. Even the Filth would feel honour-bound to solve this one. Once it hit the news, it would cause untold aggravation for everyone.

A shooting was newsworthy enough in itself, but a child being shot? Being part of what was, to all intents and purposes,
a hit? That would be national news. It would be the first story before the bongs on
News at Ten
, make the front page of all the papers. And so it should – it was shocking. This would bring the Filth out in droves, there was no getting away from that. It would cost a small fortune to keep them out of it.

‘This is fucking going to cause ructions, Delroy.’

Delroy shrugged. ‘That, my man, is the understatement of the fucking year.’

Daniel Bailey knew
exactly
what he had caused, and he was glad. He’d felt that he had to make a fucking splash, and he had done just that. The Menendez brothers were gone, and no one would say a word about that so he was as safe as houses there. It was a genuine grievance that would be understood by everyone in their world; they were a pair of fucking wasters, who had believed that they could scam the very people who had been good enough to give them a fucking good earn in the first place. He shook his head at the utter front of some people.

As for Alfie Clarke, that fucker had only got what was coming to him and Daniel had been thrilled to be the one to finally give him his comeuppance. And he had no real care for Alfie Clarke’s son, he was collateral damage, that’s all. True, he could have waited for Alfie to put the child down, but he didn’t have the patience to fart-arse about all day. He had known when he had pulled up beside the Merc that he was going to take the child out too. It was his way of letting everyone know that he was capable of literally
anything
.

He looked around his front room; it was too quiet without little Tania careering all over the place. He looked fondly at her toys, packed neatly into a wicker basket. Lena had always been good like that, she had never let the kids take over the living room. She always said that once they were in bed, the toys were to be put away, and it was the grown-ups’ time.