The Life (9 page)

But in the last year she could feel the tension growing between them – everyone could. Not that anybody mentioned it, of course. As bad as the relationship between the brothers was, they would still cut the throat of anyone who tried to come between them.

She knew Daniel was drinking a lot these days and Lena was worried about it. Daniel Bailey and drink was never a good combination. When he wasn’t maudlin, he was a violent drunk – not towards his wife or family but with people he didn’t know very well. He saw a slight where none existed. He’d always been the same but until this last year he had never been a bully. Now he was getting a reputation as a troublesome pisshead.

For the moment, his name and his standing were enough to keep him safe; Peter saw to it that he was watched and he smoothed over things that might otherwise grow out of proportion. But Ria knew that there would always be someone who could not be placated. One day, Daniel would push his luck too far. That concerned Ria insomuch as it affected
her
husband,
her
family.

She also knew that it worried Lena, though Lena thought the sun shone out of her husband’s arse, and would stand by him no matter what. Ria respected Lena for that, but she also felt that it was time Lena put her foot down, and told her husband the truth about his behaviour, and how it was affecting the whole family. But that would never happen. Lena still feigned ignorance – and Ria did think it
had
to be feigned.

Even so, she was not as involved with the family business as Ria was. And these days, Lena was far too wrapped up in the new baby to pay much attention to what was going on around her. All Ria could do was support her husband, as she had always done, and thank God she chose the better brother.

The DJ was playing Edwin Starr, and the music was so loud it seemed to make the walls move with the reverberation from the bass. All around, the young people were dancing, gyrating, shouting to be heard above the noise. The place was packed to capacity, the smell of cheap perfume and sweat heavy in the air. Half-naked girls were dancing around as if their lives depended on it, determined to pull or be pulled. They wore brightly coloured make-up, and were dressed in the height of fashion. This was Ilford, Essex, bordering East London; these were the girls who set the fashions for the rest of the country. These were the girls who decided what was in, and what wasn’t. They were like exotic birds, so young, so lovely. Ilford had several major nightclubs, all well known, well frequented, and always packed. Now there was a new club, just off Green Lane, called The House. It was open later than the others, and it was always guaranteed to have the best DJs and the best live music on a Friday and a Saturday.

Peter and Daniel Bailey had opened this club and watched as the money rolled in; for with the clubs came the drugs, both of which were earning them fortunes. Peter was happy for Daniel to run this side of the business. Personally, he didn’t like it, but he was sensible enough to know it was a necessary evil. Peter prided himself on providing the best that could be procured, from the DJs to the live music. And so, despite his dislike of them, he also
insisted on the best quality of narcotic. Peter believed that if you offered the best, you would have the edge over the rest.

As he walked into The House, he saw the bouncers on the door searching two young men, and he nodded at them, pleased. No one dealt in here, unless they had the permission of the head doorman. It was not just so that they were the only game in town – it was to make sure that no one was sold anything that could kill. So much of the speed that was sold around and about was cut with everything from Ajax, a kitchen cleaner, to strychnine, a bona fide poison. Peter accepted they had to
sell
the stuff – along with the LSD, the marijuana: the home grown, sinsemilla, Afghan Black. That was without the Valium, the Mogadon, the uppers and the downers that went hand-in-hand with the stimulants that were in such high demand.

Oh, they were like a fucking pharmacy, but Peter had made peace with that. As Daniel said, if they didn’t provide the drugs, somebody else would. The money to be made was too quick and too easy to overlook, and he knew the truth of that statement.

As he walked through the downstairs bar, Peter wondered at the money that would change hands in here this night. He pushed his way through the crush of bodies, looking around him, as always, still watching for the errant knife, the lone gunman. He knew that to survive you could never get complacent. Especially with Daniel pissing more people off by the day. Well, Daniel was a fucking idiot as far as he was concerned. He admired his brother’s confidence, in a way. But Peter was a man who believed that the worst
could
happen, and frequently did. Therefore he was always on the lookout for the nearest escape route, the hidden assassin or the fucking drunk trying to prove themselves.

The last of these was the worst worry of all; nothing was worse than an old has-been just released from stir, who still
pledged allegiance to the old Faces, trying to settle a score that was not only pointless, but was also completely without provocation. That was the trouble with a long sentence, if the person wasn’t careful they got caught in a time warp. They stormed out of the nick, all pumped up with adrenalin and hatred, determined to right old wrongs, twenty years too fucking late. The world had changed too much for them, they had no idea how to fit in any more; they were fucking dinosaurs who still thought you could buy a pint, go to the pictures, have a meal and still get change from a fucking groat. He was sorry for them, understood their dilemma, but he also knew how dangerous they were, not only to themselves, but to the people around them. Because of that, Peter had made a point of contacting all the old Faces who had found themselves proud possessors of long sentences. He made sure they had a few quid, and that they were well looked after. He felt they deserved respect. These men were often forgotten, and that was wrong.

Peter Bailey was a man who always looked at every angle, even when he was at home in his bed, cuddling his wife. He still made sure that no one could penetrate his home. He was overly careful, but believed he had to be. The bigger you got, the more you had to lose.

As he slipped into the office he sighed with relief. ‘What a fucking racket! Call that music?’

Daniel laughed. ‘Well,
I
don’t, but the youth of today, who spend a good wedge in here, think it’s the dog’s bollocks. This place is a fucking money machine, I tell you.’

Peter nodded. He was pleased. This was actually Delroy’s brainchild. The boy had come up trumps. He had said this was a good investment, made a convincing argument and he had been right. He had also made sure they had a good DJ, cheap drink, and late licences. All in all, he had given them a seriously
good – and legal – earn. His son-in-law had really come into his own because of this and Peter was impressed. The place was perfect for meets; it was a large building, with front and back access, four floors and, more to the point, it was always packed so it made it much harder for the Filth to infiltrate – bearing in mind the undercover police stuck out like a fucking pork chop in a mosque. You could see them a mile off, from their newly pierced ears, to their brand new leather jackets. It was embarrassing really. They couldn’t fit in just anywhere – they were the Filth, for fuck’s sake – they only fit in with their own. Ten years out of date in their clothing, they were so uncomfortable in the discotheque surroundings, they were easier to spot than a leper at a poker game. Peter had noticed more than one Filth on his foray into the offices tonight; it was laughable really.

‘You see those Filth dressed up like real people?’

Daniel laughed. ‘It’s awful, Peter, we know them all by name! Our new boy at the Met, Smith, has furnished us with all their details. Like we need them! They look like spare pricks at a wedding. But, in fairness, he’s come through for us.’

Peter nodded, then, going to the small bar in the corner of the office, he poured himself a large Scotch. He sipped it before saying quietly, ‘So, what’s the problem with Alfie Clarke now, Dan?’

Daniel shrugged nonchalantly, but he was wondering who had given his brother the nod. He was hoping to take Clarke out before his brother even realised there was a problem. Peter was too fucking gullible as far as he was concerned. He trusted the wrong people; he thought that his associates were as honest and loyal as he was.

Daniel squared up to his brother, pushing his shoulders back, taking a deep breath. It was a completely unconscious gesture. He was not happy about being caught like this, on the hop as it
were. ‘You know my feelings about him, Pete. I have never hidden my contempt. I worked with him for you, but I have never trusted him.’

Peter finished his drink, and poured himself another before saying quietly, ‘You have to stop this, Dan, and you have to stop it now. Alfie is earning us serious money. He’s a cunt, granted, but he is also
our
cunt. You have this fucking mental haze – you take against people for no reason. I know you have been goading him. If I was him I would have taken you out, even if it meant I was shot dead in the street. I would not let you make a fucking mug of me like you have him. You’re out of order, and you did all this behind my back.’

Daniel had known it would come out eventually, but it had never occurred to him that his brother knew what was happening but had chosen to let it go. Peter had been repairing the damage on the quiet. Daniel decided the best way forward was to go on the offensive.

‘Come on, Peter, you and I both know that bastard is not trustworthy.’

Peter Bailey smiled despite himself; if there was one thing he loved about his brother, it was that he never changed. He was always constant, ignorant as shit, but stoic in his opinions.

‘This is not about Clarke, is it? Not really him, personally. It’s about you, as usual. Well, do you know something, Dan? This is one time I am putting my foot down. You have got to stop this, all this petty fucking stupidity. I’m sick of it. Sick of clearing up after you.
You’re
getting the reputation of a cunt. No one trusts
you
.’ Peter Bailey poked his finger into his own chest as he said angrily, ‘
I
don’t fucking trust you! You cause upset everywhere you go. You take offence at every little fucking opportunity. You have to prove yourself to people who mean
nothing
to us, to people so beneath our radar they might as well
be dead. Come on, bruv, enjoy this, enjoy what we’ve created. Please, Dan, it’s like we don’t know each other any more.’

Daniel looked into his brother’s brown eyes; this was the only person in the world who he really loved – he sometimes thought that this man might actually take precedence over his wife and kids. But he couldn’t back down this time. Clarke was like a cancer to him; he ate at him every minute of the day. He knew it was irrational, but that didn’t bother him. He truly believed that if this brother of his had felt like this about someone, he would not dare to question him about it, he would just accept it. Accept the fact that his brother must obviously have his reasons for his strong dislike of a person, no matter what the score. Daniel would just have stepped back and allowed for the inevitable. He expected the same support.

‘Look, Pete, I loathe him. He looks down his nose at us. And what the fuck have we really achieved with him on our payroll? I’ve heard he’s mugging us off. So are we going to take that? Come on, you tell me.’

Peter shook his head in abject disbelief; he knew that Daniel was drunk – he was always drunk lately – but he had heard rumours he was not averse to a line or two of coke. That had to be the reason for this paranoia. He had always been a bit paranoid had Daniel, but lately he was completely out of it.

‘What we have achieved, Dan, is all this –’ he opened his arms wide – ‘this and much more. If you can’t see that then I’m wasting my fucking time here, ain’t I? Clarke is no more than a fucking drone, a worker, and he delivers. He delivers regularly, and he is well respected. Now, I am asking you for the last time. Don’t rock the boat, we have a lot of money riding on him.’

Daniel looked at his brother, then around the office. He liked it here, it was a nice room, big enough to accommodate up to ten people, and smart enough to feel you were on the up. There
were no windows, so no fear of a petrol bomb, or a shooting. He felt the same need as his brother to feel safe. Unlike his brother, he knew he didn’t always have his eye on the ball. He was easily sidetracked, he was not a man who really embraced the nitty gritty, whereas for Peter all that kind of stuff came naturally. Peter always read the small print, he saw the little things, things that to most people meant nothing, but were often the cause of a major problem, mainly because the person concerned didn’t bother to look for them, or didn’t understand the importance of them. Peter was the voice of reason.

Now Daniel could see that Peter had no trust for him any more, that he saw him as a liability. He knew at that moment, with stunning clarity, that Peter had every right to feel that way.

He had made the cardinal mistake, he had succumbed to the worst thing men like them could succumb to.

He was taking his own drugs.

Daniel was sweating, but he was not going to let that bother him. He looked down at the man on the floor and, smiling craftily, he began laying into him once more.

His two eldest sons watched as their father carried out the attack. He’d said that the man owed them money, and had brought them with him so that they could see what happened to anyone who mugged off the Baileys.

Davey looked at his older brother and held his arms out in a gesture of bewilderment; he wasn’t sure what this was about really. It seemed so over the top.

Danny Junior sighed and said quietly, ‘He loves a fucking audience, so get used to it.’ It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his father out of control. ‘Uncle Peter is going to go fucking mad when he finds out. He’s already warned him about making scenes like this.’