Faces (3 page)

Danny had no finesse, and he knew it. He spoke and people jumped. And, as far as he was concerned, that was how it should be. No one was allowed to question him except this man in front of him. His best mate, his business partner and, most important of all, the person whom he called his other half, his sensible head, in private. The only person in the world he actually trusted.

Michael had always been the voice of reason and somewhere in Danny Cadogan’s brain he knew that. Mike’s voice had always been the only thing that could cause him to question his own actions. Even as boys, kids together, that had been the case. They were of a size, both large men, both well made, and both had the good looks that money and prestige could only enhance. But whereas Danny had a dangerousness that had been apparent from an early age, Michael had been blessed with a reasonableness, a quietness that in its own way made just as big an impact. People listened to Michael because of Danny, then, if they had any kind of nous, they listened to him because he made a lot of sense. Women loved them, especially the kind of women Danny actively sought out. Good looking, well stacked and with a haphazard approach to romance. No questions, no demands and, certainly, no intention of refusing a request, no matter what it was, or what time of the night they happened to turn up. These women kept themselves clean, smart and well groomed, and they waited on the off-chance they might get a visit from their provider.

Both men dressed well, fucked with ambivalence, and they both liked kudos. And they saw the world as an oyster created especially for their needs. The difference between them was that although Danny had an innate shrewdness and a viciousness that had made him someone of note, it was Michael who possessed the actual acumen needed to make them as rich legally as they were from their other, less legitimate enterprises. Everything they owned they could account for if necessary, from their large houses to their diamond Rolexes. Everything they possessed had been bought on the up and up, was insured properly, and they paid their tax and VAT without a murmur. They were, to all intents and purposes, Diamond Geezers, Faces.

But to anyone in the know, they were far more than that. Theirs was an operation that was more global than the United Nations, and more local than a kebab shop. No one did any kind of business without their express permission and goodwill. Whether it was ringing a motor, or selling a snide DVD, they were involved somewhere along the line. But there was such a hierarchy involved, it would take decades of intense investigation before their names were even mentioned. Danny was far more of a threat than a twenty-year stretch could ever be and, if that was ever the case, if an accident did occur at any time and a capture came out of it, the person involved knew without a shadow of a doubt that their family would live a life of luxury and private education that most MPs could only dream about. Loyalty cost money, but it was a small price to pay when you weighed up all the other options. It was their generosity towards even their lowliest of workers that had got them this far in the first place. As Danny always argued, Tony Blair should have remembered who had put him in the hot seat in the first place, and then maybe he would still be the dog’s gonads as far as the electorate were concerned. Danny had admired Blair at first, but the war had finished him as far as he and New Labour was concerned. What real leader would sacrifice his own people, his own countrymen, in a war that was not only pointless but, ultimately, unwinnable? What leader would put his own people in jeopardy because some Yank told him to? What leader would expect such loyalty without giving it back in some way? Blair had tucked them all up and, thanks to him, Danny knew that he and all his ilk would thrive. Thanks to him, the criminals were given the opportunity to expand and unite without even having to jump on a plane. Thanks to him, they could ply their trades with much more ease, because the police were far too busy hunting down terrorists.

Now Danny Boy Cadogan was the biggest Face in the United Kingdom, dealing with the rest of the criminal world on a daily basis and getting far more respect than his own prime minister. He ran an enterprise that would put the Wellcome Foundation to shame, but at least he sold his drugs at a reasonable price and ensured that they were accessible to everyone who wanted them. Such was the mindset of Danny Boy Cadogan, a man who saw himself as above everything, and everyone, especially the law.

From small acorns, as his old man had always said to him. The same old man who couldn’t keep a pound in his pocket if the pubs were open and his kids were starving. A man who would have applauded the new licensing laws and robbed a pensioner without a second’s thought, to make sure he had enough poke to make use of them. Who would never have seen his kids if he had not been forced to by the fact that once the pubs had shut, there was nowhere else to go but home. Danny had never forgiven him for that, for the fact he would rather get pissed with his cronies than see his kids taken care of properly. It had been his father’s complete disregard for anyone other than himself that had made Danny so determined to make something of his own life. He had his own father crippled and not felt a smidgeon of guilt. The bastard had asked for it and, after a while, he had got it.

They had started out small-time, him and Michael, like every big business, and now they were not only as rich as Croesus, they were also untouchable. They had money everywhere, all over the world, and they had a lifestyle that was good by anyone’s standards, but not even half as good as it could be if they used their
real
money. And Danny would have done just that if it had not been for, as always, Michael’s warning voice bringing him back down to earth. Danny accepted that he was still around, and still without a real nicking, and he also accepted that this was because of Michael, and Michael accepted that, without Danny, he would not have lasted five minutes in their world. He didn’t have the killer instinct, the need for violence that Danny did. He was also basically straight; he was always far more interested in the economics of their deals than the deals themselves. Danny knew Michael loved the creating of the wealth far more than he enjoyed the spending of it. Michael thrived on the making of the deals, whereas Danny thrived on the excitement and the danger of their various ventures. They were a good team because of that, and they both knew it.

One day they would retire, and the world would be their playground, and then they could spend their hard-earned dosh in any way they saw fit.

Not any more though. If Michael had his way, Danny would be retiring to the big score in the sky. ‘I’ll meet you later in the warehouse, OK? We’ll sort it all from there.’

Danny nodded absentmindedly.

Jonjo was quiet, the marks from his brother’s angry attack still livid on his face. Jonjo wanted it all over, but for a very different reason than the others. Danny was his brother, and they were close all right, but not as close as everyone thought, at least not from his side anyway. This had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get Danny out of his life once and for all. Unlike Michael who, in fairness, was looking out for his sister and her children, he was looking only out for himself.

‘It’s make-your-mind-up time.’

Michael shrugged. The cold night air seemed to have brought them both back down to earth with a resounding thud.

Jonjo shook his head sadly. ‘It’s Mary I feel sorry for. We let her get involved. Then we let her down.’

‘She loves him you know, Jonjo. In a strange way, we all did once. Without him, what would we be?’ Michael was silent then for a few seconds before starting up the car and driving them out of the breaker’s yard.

As they drove away Jonjo wondered how it had come to this, how their lives had ended up bereft of anything even resembling normality. He had been so close to his brother once, and he knew that his brother still felt a connection with him. Danny would give him the world on a plate if he could, he just never understood that not everyone was like him, not everyone
wanted
that much. As kids it had all been different, and Danny had been the only real constant in his life. Not only had Danny been his hero, his role model, but he had also been the only thing that stood between him and his father’s colossal anger. Then, of course, he had
needed
his brother’s strength, had welcomed it even. Little had he realised it would eventually be the thing he hated most about him. Be the thing that made him determined to bring him down.

Danny was completely out of control now, but after the night’s events all Jonjo could think about was his childhood, and the fact that without his brother, he would never have survived it.

Now the man who had protected him, bullied him, and destroyed him, was finally going to die. At least he hoped that would be the case, though knowing his brother he would turn this around to his advantage and that would be the end of them all.

Either way though, tonight was the end of it, whatever the outcome. It would finally be over.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born.

-W. Blake, 1757-1827 ‘Auguries of Innocence’

Chapter One

 

‘Am I, by any chance, keeping you up, Cadogan?’

The boy didn’t answer, the fear of saying the wrong thing making him wary. He shook his head violently in denial instead.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, child, did I interrupt your praying then? Only you close your eyes for two things in this life, sleeping or praying. Or am I a fecking eegit, and there’s a third reason that I don’t know anything about?’

‘No. Of course not . . .’

The priest looked around the classroom, his arms outstretched in a gesture of complete innocence. He looked, for all the world, like a man interested in what a young fella might have to tell him.

‘I mean, child, if you have something to
share
with the rest of us mere fecking mortals, if you have some kind of fecking phone line to the Almighty Himself that we don’t know about, feel free to share your good fortune with those of us not deemed important enough to have the like ourselves.’

Jonjo still didn’t answer him, knowing that anything he said would be misconstrued, distorted and then used against him.

‘So, were you praying then, maybe to a saint, or the Blessed Virgin Mary herself. Or were you just fecking sleeping away the shagging morning? Now, I personally feel that the latter was probably the case. So, come on then, Cadogan, which is it to be?’

The priest was a short man, not much over five foot, with a slight stoop and a drinker’s gait. Grey before his time, his sparse hair was possessed of a life of its own. He always looked like he had just got out of his bed. His watery grey eyes were deep set and already had the shadows of cataracts on them. His breath was foul, all the boys who sat at the front desks complained about it. His tongue was a furry black point, and it snaked in and out of his mouth as he shouted at them. He was a fascinating chunk of human tragedy who they would remember for the rest of their lives. He was always angry inside and, as always, he vented his spleen on the nearest target he could find. His sarcasm was not only meant to demean and wound, but was also expected to be found highly amusing by the other children in his class. All the boys hated him, but they learned off by heart whatever he told them they had to, and they never forgot any of it either; he could go back to it at any time to try and catch them out.

‘Were you asleep, lad? Praying to our Lord Himself, Him being such a grand friend of course, were you asking Him for a Special Intention maybe?’ He looked at the sea of faces and said, with sarcasm, ‘I
know
what you were doing, Cadogan, with your eyes closed and your mouth open like a gormless fecking mental retard, you were asking a favour of St Jude himself.’

He looked around the classroom, his eyebrows raised as if in wonderment, and he saw the relief in each and every pair of eyes that it wasn’t them who had been singled out by him. Deep inside him the shame was overwhelming; after he demoralised a child in his care he always hated himself for his bullying. But the pettiness and discontent poured out of him as the boy he was singling out did nothing at all to defend himself from his vicious onslaught. That made him worse, made him feel they deserved everything they got. He started mimicking a little girl, a cockney girl at that, and this did manage to raise a few smiles from his class.

‘Oh, Saint Jude, Patron Saint of
no
’Ope, could you help me find me brain at all?’ He sniggered then, enjoying his own wit, enjoying the boy’s embarrassment more.

‘Well, was that why you had your eyes closed tight while I was attempting to instil a modicum of education into that thick head of yours?’

‘No, Sir, I mean, Father . . .’

Jonjo’s voice was shaking with fright, but that didn’t make him seem any less in front of his school friends, they would all have been the same had they been the one on the receiving end. Father Patrick was a hard case and they knew that. He was capable of bodily dragging a lad from his seat and thrashing him with fists and feet, for no reason other than he felt they were looking at him cross-eyed. That was a favourite expression of Father Patrick’s, looking at him cross-eyed and, as most of the boys in the class were from Irish stock they knew exactly what that meant; it meant they had looked at him without respect, without giving him what he saw as his due. What it really meant though was that he was half pissed and looking for someone to take his anger out on.

The boys knew they had to accept his punishment, none of their parents would take a child’s word over a priest’s. None of the children there would have expected their parents to do that anyway, after all he
was
a priest. Christ’s emissary on earth. He had his own creds as far as they were concerned. The fact that he had given up his chance to have a family, indulge in the sex act, and had dedicated his life to the betterment of others was enough for them. Who wouldn’t get the arse now and again after that kind of promise? So they took what he had to give with a stoic calm that actually enraged him even more.