Faces (40 page)

Lenny and Dougie were both stocky, balding and devoid of anything even remotely resembling a sense of humour. They were earners though, and that was all Frank really cared about. He also knew it was what Danny Boy Cadogan cared about as well. Danny Boy Cadogan wanted to share his new-found bounty with them, and Frank was shrewd enough to know that he would want something back in return. He was happy enough to do business with him; the boy was more than able by all accounts and he was more than willing, what more could he ask for? Well, that remained to be seen, didn’t it? Danny was smiling at them, and Frank and his two partners were treated to the full force of his very unpredictable personality. It was this that finally made Frank extremely wary. He knew from experience that the Danny Boys of his world were dangerous because they were basically thugs, and thugs were not geared up to run things; they didn’t have the staying power or the temperament. Danny Boy, so he had heard, could rustle up a scam with the best of them, and knew an earner from a hundred paces. He was already a player in their world, and a big one at that. Frank was only approaching them now because they were among the few people in the Smoke who weren’t already involved with him in some capacity. He had avoided this day for as long as he could, but now he wanted an in; he needed the boy’s criminal contacts, as well as his tame Filth, to expand his drugs business. By all accounts, no one around him could handle anything over three kilos without his express permission. The boy could also get his grubby little hands on anything, from steroids to blue ones. From a bit of Jamaican grass to a Nepalese temple ball, Danny Cadogan had it sewn up, and that suited Frank no end, he just wanted to distribute it; he wasn’t arsed about the importing side of it all, because that’s where the big sentences were handed out. Distribution meant he could take a back seat and let everyone else worry about a capture. He made sure he was always three people away from any kind of police investigation.

As they shook hands and ordered drinks Frank was reluctantly impressed with Cadogan’s laid-back demeanour. He was a dangerous fuck, there was no doubt about that, but he was also capable of being a charming bastard when the fancy took him.

As Michael Miles joined them, he relaxed a little bit more, he was the one with the head for figures; he was the one who, word on the pavement said, could turn a fiver into a ton overnight. He looked like a brain-box and he seemed much more approachable than his partner-in-crime. But, as he knew to his detriment, in their world you
never
judged a book by its cover.

 

‘He’s a cunt.’

Michael sighed once more. He wasn’t in the mood for this tonight, he was meeting Carole for a meal in Ilford and he was already ten minutes late as it was. Not that Danny Boy would care about that.

‘Look, Danny, Frank’s all right, and he will bring in a good wedge. You said as much yourself. He’s shrewd, he knows the score, and he is upping his investment every time we see him. So, leave this tonight, eh? I’m meeting Carole and I’m already late as it is. I’m going to ask her to marry me . . .’

Michael’s handsome features were now rearranged into a wide smile. He was amazed at Danny Boy’s quietness at his announcement. He looked stunned by the news and, for a few seconds, Michael wondered if his friend was actually worried about his choice of woman, even though he knew Danny thought the world of her. Then Danny Boy seemed to collect himself and, grabbing him into a bear hug, he said happily, ‘Oh, Mike, that’s the best news ever, mate.’

Michael could feel the strength of him, knew that this was one time when he could really relax around Danny Boy, because he loved Carole and it showed. He thought she was the dog’s gonads and he told Michael that at every available opportunity. His first reaction, stunned shock, had thrown him for a few seconds, and he had wondered, briefly, if Danny Boy’s friendliness towards Carole had been false. But no one could fake Danny’s affection for Carole, or hers for him. But that was all it was, affection.

‘What a fucking Brahma you got yourself there, mate.’ Danny was over the moon for his friend and, pushing him away, he said loudly, ‘Go on, get your arse in gear, business can wait till the morning. Frank can go on the back burner until I decide what to do with him . . .’

Michael’s happiness was marred by the words and he grinned sadly, his long arms outstretched as he said, ‘You can’t kill anyone else, Danny Boy, and anyway, Frank has done nothing to you. Plus he’s a fucking good earner . . .’

Danny was straight-faced now, the happiness of seconds ago gone completely, and his scowl, which could strike terror into the hardest of hearts, was evident. ‘He’s a lairy cunt and he needs taking down a few notches . . .’

Michael knew that his meal with Carole was not going to happen. So he rang the restaurant and made his apologies. Carole being Carole, was good-natured about it; she understood the business he was in and she was intelligent enough to know that things happened. It was one of the things he loved about her; his sister Mary, on the other hand, would have gone mental. In her heyday she would have forced the issue, made Danny go to her, created murders over one broken date. But Carole didn’t bat an eyelid, she was laughing as always, and told him she’d see him later that night.

Danny Boy was grinning as he came off the phone. ‘She didn’t give you one bit of grief, did she?’

Michael shook his head. ‘Nah, she knows the score, Dan.’

‘I still think you should go to Carole, we can sort this out in the morning. I bet she’s even good about that, eh, you sneaking off like the fucking lodger at daybreak.’

Michael laughed then, at the image Danny Boy had created, ‘Look, Dan, I’ll let you into a secret, but you have to keep it close, all right. She’s still a fucking virgin. I’ll have to marry her just to get me leg over.’

Danny was astonished, even though he had guessed as much. That Michael had won such a prize pleased him tremendously, but a little voice was goading him at the same time. That could have been him; he had wanted Mary because someone else had her. And again he wanted what someone else had, as always. No, he was fucking lumbered.

He forced the thoughts from his mind, ashamed at his thoughts about his best friend and poor Carole.

‘Fucking hell, I could have told you that. She’s a good girl, old Carole, a decent girl. I am so pleased for you, mate.’

 

And he meant it, every word. He didn’t want Carole in real life because he knew his lechery would have broken her heart. He loved her enough to not want to hurt her in any way, shape or form. She was his best mate’s bird, and he was glad she was finally off the market. She wasn’t a beauty, in the traditional sense of the word, but she was a woman to aspire to. She was someone who the man who finally bagged her would treasure. She was a real lady, and he would always love her from afar. Now that Michael was going to marry her, he actually felt relief. As his best friend’s wife she would be off-limits to him and, therefore, he couldn’t hurt her. His reasoning made perfect sense to him, because whatever he wanted, he made sure that he got. It never occurred to him that Carole might not have wanted him; that, as far as he was concerned, was a given.

‘Look Danny Boy, leave Frank alone. Promise me, we are earning fortunes from him. Fucking megabucks, and if anything happens to him, we would make a lot of enemies. He’s got his creds with everyone in the know and, anyway, he’s a nice bloke.’

Danny smiled again. His white teeth were like a movie star’s, and his face crinkled-up in all the right places. He was a severely handsome man and Michael wondered, once again, how such good looks could mask such a vicious personality.

‘But he’s a cunt. He thinks he’s the fucking dog’s bollocks and he ain’t. I am weighing him out on a regular basis and he is on the earn. Everyone is on the fucking earn, thanks to us two. But he is extracting the urine, and I know he is, and no one takes the fucking piss out of me.’

Michael sat down on the old sofa that Louie had been kind enough to leave for them. He sighed, and the sound was loud in the confines of the small room. Michael was frightened now, he knew that Frank was not someone to be lightly missed. He was a nice bloke, he was a good earner, and he was a fucking Face. A
real
Face, and he knew that was what annoyed Danny Boy so much. But he was frightened of Danny’s reaction, he was quite capable of going round Frank’s house and shooting him without any real reason whatsoever. Just because Danny Boy Cadogan felt threatened by Frank’s busy social life. He was liked, he was respected, and Danny was fucked off because he felt he had waited too long before he had approached them for the earn. Frank was courteous and friendly, and Danny saw that as a piss-take because he wanted to. He wanted a reason to destroy him, wipe him out. Michael felt the steel band of a headache encircle his forehead, and the pain was electric. He knew it was tension, knew it was brought on by worry. Knew that it wasn’t going to go anywhere in the near future. In fact, he was already adept at living with it.

‘Look, Danny Boy, he ain’t taking the piss out of you, all right, he fucking
likes
you. He
admires
you. But you know as well as I do, he is a man who has a good reputation around town, and if you start a fucking war with him, or take him out, we’ll lose a lot of goodwill and a lot of fucking money into the bargain. He’s married to Barry Clarke’s sister, for fuck’s sake, and Barry is a mate. So let it go, will you, at least for the time being anyway.’

Danny was looking out of the window, he was watching the dogs as they patrolled the grounds. He knew Michael was talking sense but that didn’t really bother him too much. It was the mention of Barry Clarke that got him going. That brought a curious thought into his head. He suddenly knew how to kill two birds with one dirty, great big stone. The thought made him smile again. ‘Go on, Michael, get yourself off to Carole. I promise I won’t do anything to anyone, OK? Scout’s honour, dib dib dib and all that.’ He was laughing again, and pretending to salute him, like a little kid would.

Michael noticed that Danny was totally relaxed once more, the tension had seeped from his body in seconds, leaving him looking like an overgrown schoolboy.

‘Get home to Mary tonight, Danny Boy, she needs you . . .’

Danny Boy nodded sadly, and they both avoided any more conversation after that.

 

Mary was lying in the bath, her rounded belly was in evidence above the water and she was trying to ignore it. She had a large glass of wine and, as she gulped at it, she was listening out for her husband’s car. He wouldn’t be home, she was sure; it was a Wednesday night and he rarely came home on a Wednesday. But she never knew anything for sure where he was concerned; he could come rolling in at any moment and she knew that her drinking alcohol would cause ructions. But it was the only way she could relax, her nerves were shot and, like her mother before her, she needed a drink to take the edge off the day. She lay back in the warm water and sighed loudly. The bathroom was huge, like everywhere else in this empty house, and the bottle of wine she had opened was calling to her. She finished the glass off in two gulps, the acidic taste of the Liebfraumilch in her pregnant belly making her burn inside. The indigestion was unbearable, but she knew that was preferable to sobriety.

As she poured herself out another large glass, she started laughing to herself. Catching her reflection in the mirrored tiles on the walls all around her, she was amazed as always at how good she looked. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and her skin was smooth and soft. Her make-up was flawless, and yet she was pissed out of her head. She decided it must be a knack she had, a genetic thing she had inherited from her mother and father, both renowned piss-artists in their day. She saw the swelling of her breasts, they were fuller now, not that Danny Boy cared. He still took her as he would an animal. No niceties at all, just a fuck and a grunt, and she was ashamed to admit that she welcomed even that much from him. She knew he had a young girl, another one, a seventeen year old with the brains of a parrot and the body of a goddess. She had seen her, she was a natural blonde with huge blue eyes and the blank expression of a fucking retard. She wondered what his regular bird made of her, probably jealous of her lifestyle and her wedding ring.

She instinctively laid a hand on her belly. She was five months gone, but bigger than she had ever been. This was the baby that would sort out all her problems, she was sure about that. She was singing softly to herself, the wine glass balanced on her tummy and a cigarette dangling from her perfectly manicured fingers when she realised that someone was watching her from the doorway.

‘You fucking whore. You drunken fucking whore . . .’

She was frozen with terror at the sight of him. She dropped the cigarette into the bath water, her fear so acute it was hanging on the steamy air, her face was stretched in dismay, her mouth a perfect ‘O’.

He walked slowly towards her, and his huge body, stiff with his anger, reminded her of how strong he was, how hard he could hit. He snatched the crystal wine glass from her shaking hand and, throwing it at the wall above her head with all his considerable strength, he shattered the mirror tiles, along with the glass itself. She felt the shards as they rained down on top of her. He was almost exploding with suppressed hatred, she could feel the heat of his anger burning into her.

‘You’d drink with my baby cooking inside you, after all that’s happened. You’re your mother’s daughter, all right, you fucking drunken cunt . . .’

She was still unable to move, all she could do was look at him in absolute shock and horror as he loomed over her. His face was twisted in anger, his huge body rigid with fury. As he grabbed at her she flinched, bringing her arms up to protect herself, thinking he was going to slap her face, or pull her out of the bath by her hair. So she was unprepared for what he actually did to her. Grabbing her ankles, he dragged her legs up towards him, forcing her head and upper body back into the bath. She was totally submerged, unable to breathe, and she tried to fight him off, tried to free herself from his grip, the water going everywhere, she was panicking, trying to lift herself out of the water, desperate to take a breath of air. She could feel the burning inside her nose as she started to breathe in the bath water . . . Unable to hold her breath for any longer, she was gradually losing her energy, felt the darkness that heralded her losing this battle for air when suddenly he dragged her head up from out of the water, and she was gasping for breath, her lungs bursting. But within seconds he was forcing her back into the water once more. All the time he was swearing and shouting at her, and as she felt herself finally losing consciousness she prayed that this was final, that she would not wake up ever again.