Serious People (4 page)

Billy leant on the bar sipping his coffee. “You’re back just in time bro.”

“In time for what?” John said, hoping to disguise the dread in his voice.

“Our collections run ya knob, have you forgotten all about our fucking job?” Billy said, gulping his coffee.

“But I thought we’d given up all that?” John replied, now not hiding his dread.

“Given it up? Are you fucking mental?” Billy said.

Roy looked up from his glass polishing. “Billy,” he said, “maybe now John’s settling down…”

“Shut your mouth!” interrupted Mary, almost spitting with aggression at her husband. "This is Blake’s business, Bailey!” 

John hated how Auntie Mary called Roy by his surname, despite their twenty-six year relationship. It was one of the more overt ways in which the old woman displayed who had the power between them in the home. John had been eleven years old when Roy got together with Mary, and the man had been like a father figure to him ever since. However, his placid nature was always being torn apart by Auntie Mary. This had worsened over the years and Billy had picked up the trait from his aunt, speaking to the older man with the same disdain.

“Honestly, you say hardly anything all week and when you do it’s a load of shit!” Mary sneered, glaring at Roy, who was now polishing the glasses with a new found dedication. It was as if he had left this plain and was now in a world where only he and the glass existed.

Billy looked at the old couple and grinned. “Look at all the shit you’ve been missing.”

John tried to smile, “I thought we’d given that stuff up. I mean it’s been weeks since we’ve done anything for Charlie?”

“Ah ya see. This was all part of Auntie Mary’s plan,” Billy said winking at Mary, who smiled back with pride.

John was not sure who had the more vindictive evil running through the blood in their veins, Mary or Billy. He had long wondered if Billy had been infected down the years by Mary’s spite, or if there was something hereditary about the evil in their family.

“Plan?” John almost spat the words out.

“Yeah, Charlie O’Neil knows we’re too good for shit jobs like this. I mean. He had to give it to us—to bring us into the business. He knows that we’re like he was, that we’re part of the same brethren. But we’re ready to move on now and this will send out that message,” Billy said, putting his now empty mug in front of Roy to clear up.

“Either that or it will just piss O’Neil off,” John said, unable to mask his horror on hearing the plan. “He’s probably killed people for doing less than this.”

“Now let me tell you this, John Blake! Your Ma and I were on the same boat from Ireland as Charlie’s father, and he won’t forget that,” Auntie Mary said, practically jumping off her feet in agitation. “He’s got plans for you boys, mark my words.”

John looked down to his feet, not having the confidence to face his brother for a moment. “Billy, I said to Emma…”

But Billy was not listening—except to his Aunt. “God! Enough of this. Are you coming or what?” he said, his eyes darkening in the way that they always did when his mind was drifting to even darker places.

John looked back at his brother, wishing he had the strength to challenge him. He’d spent most his life trying to work how best to confront his younger brother; he’d tried everything, from gentle persuasion to direct disagreement. But direct challenges always led to a physical confrontation between them; this would always mean John taking a beating of some sort. It was not down to Billy’s physical prowess over him but merely that he couldn’t bring himself to strike his brother. Billy did not have the same disability.

“Sure.” John heard himself say.

Charlie gently closed the door to his wife’s room behind him. Robert watched as his old friend stopped, facing the door for a moment, not moving. He was not sure whether Charlie was uttering a silent prayer for Jackie or if he was simply trying to summon the strength to walk away. Either way, Robert found it tough to watch.

Robert had always lived life by three rules. First, you have only one life and it was down to you to maximise it. Second, there’s no excuse for nothing. Third, failure’s only a reason to go again. These rules reflected his raw determination to put every ounce of his energy into his working life and had resulted in giving both he and Charlie the very considerable financial wealth they both enjoyed.

Charlie had always been
the name
, of course. He was prepared to do anything to anyone or anything, but he did it with some form of charm which added to his reputation on the street. Maybe it was his good looks or the slight Irish accent, both of which he had inherited from his parents, which when he chose to, he could give a lighter touch to his words no matter how venomous. This had long been a point of humour between the two friends and colleagues. If you were stood over someone—about to end them in some way—you might say something like “any last words,” which translated to “you’re fucked,” if say Mickey was to say it. But whenever it was Charlie who made such an enquiry, those ominous words would be said in such a way the person who heard them would actually believe that Charlie would—after doing the dreadful deed—then leave the scene and ensure that, whoever the words were intended for, would actually receive them.

It was amusing  because Charlie was actually more vicious than any man Robert had ever met. Nicknames in London were largely a thing of the past, as most people in this trade didn’t last long enough to have them thought up. One exception of that was of course Mickey the Bag. But another was the name which some of the northern based firms had given Charlie;
the Devil in London
. Robert understood that Charlie had earned this nickname.

“How’s she doing?” Robert asked.

“She’s asleep. I thought I’d let her rest for a while,” Charlie replied.

“The doc said that she’s responding to some of the treatments that they’ve been trying,” Robert said and he sat down again.

This was not the whole truth. What the doctor had actually said was that Jackie had no more than six months left to life; actually the only thing that was left medically to do was make those six months as pain free as they could. Robert could count on one hand the number of times he’d lied to his best friend—it was not something that went hand in hand with living a healthy life, even for Robert—but he knew Charlie needed this reassurance. He didn’t want the truth. He wasn’t even sure that Charlie could ever cope with the reality in this case, and that scared Robert to the bone.

“Responding? I suppose we should be thankful for something. How did my world get so fucked?” Charlie said, bursting into rage. “Everyone's taking bloody liberties! Even our payments are not coming in!” he shouted.

“It will all settle down Charlie,” Robert said. “Sit down for a moment.”

“I don’t want to sit; I just want at least one part of my life to be settled!”

“Look Charlie, I’ll look after the business side of things for a while. I’ll clear all this shit up. You just focus on Jackie,” Robert said, looking back at his friend.

“I don’t know...” Charlie replied.

“Charlie, we’re partners. We cover each other’s back,” Robert said.

Charlie still stood for a moment, not saying anything. Then, suddenly appearing to feel the weight of the world on his legs, he finally sat down. “Thanks Robert, I appreciate it,” he said. “In fact, I’ve got something I’d like you to look into for me.”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?” Robert said, trying to hide the concern this request invoked.

Before Jackie’s illness, if Charlie had asked him for something, it would be as good as done, no questions. But recently, Charlie had not been his usual calculating self. Jackie’s illness had worn him down. He was drinking more than usual and seemed at times on the verge of some kind of breakdown.

When Robert had arrived at the hospital earlier on, he had eventually found Charlie in the Church Chapel, screaming abuse at the Christ on the cross, to the point where the staff had called for security to have him removed. Luckily—for the security guard in question—Robert got there when he did; it may well have been the last thing the security guard had done if he had challenged Charlie O’Neil.

Even Robert’s offer to take sole charge of the business was farcical, as that’s exactly what he had been doing for the months since he’d started to question some of Charlie’s decisions. These ranged from taking on inept new people to their firm, to risky projects, where the danger hugely outweighed the reward. Such decisions really pissed Robert off. The secret to everything, to him, lay in how it was planned. His world was all about risk and mitigation, and some of Charlie’s actions were majorly affecting the balance.

Charlie was right, however, that collections were down, and Robert knew why this was the case. Charlie had taken on the Blake brothers to do some of the work, which was a crazy decision. Anyone local knew the Blakes’ reputation; they were scum. They were the type of people who would think nothing about robbing some old pensioner of their life savings or committing some sexual assault. They were people that shouldn’t be associated with. Indeed, Robert had thought about putting them all in the Thames, just to mitigate this particular risk, but Charlie had been adamant.

So Robert had started a bit of a recruitment drive himself to try and control this risk; if their crew were over manned then it might deter Charlie from thinking there was more room in their ranks for others. Seamus had been one of these recruits. Whilst he may not ever be the next Tony Montana, Robert knew that he would be loyal and trust worthy, and that any fuck up he committed—chances are—would be fixable. Robert was waiting for the day that one of those Blake gypsies came through his office door covered in blood, saying they had fucked up and were sorry.

Liabilities. Robert hated liabilities and he was desperately trying to ignore the part of his brain that was screaming at him that the biggest current one he had was the once great man he was standing next to.

“They’re Irish Robert; they’re like us. They just need a leg up. They’ll be loyal and do whatever we want them to,” Charlie had said.

“Mate, I’m not sure,” Robert had countered.

“It’s karma mate, sometimes you have to cut people a break. Look at us! Where would we be now?”

Robert had wanted to argue this—it was complete shit. Robert and Charlie were where they were ’cause they earned it. No one had ever given them a leg up. They had just built up an organisation that was more vicious and strategic than that of any of their competitors; it was as simple as that. No. Robert knew that the intended beneficiary of the karma that his best friend was referring to was Jackie—as if he could somehow balance all his evil deeds he had done. It was poor mental logic and it scared the shit out of Robert.

“Is that showbiz manager guy still into us for a few grand?” Charlie asked.

Robert hoped his face hid the relief that this question brought him. He wasn’t being asked to recruit some convicted rapist from the old counties that was looking for a second chance.

“Yeah, quite a few grand if I remember right,” Robert said. “He’s got a real nasty gambling problem, as well as a real fetish for gangster worship! He’d probably do anything we ask just to be seen out in a bar with one of us.”

It had always amazed Robert the amount of people in the honest world that liked to be linked to people like himself and Charlie. Maybe it was a power thing? He wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that it was idiotic. Robert spent his life trying to keep people’s eyes off him and making a clean buck wherever he could.

“Good,” Charlie said with a smile. “Oh and I forgot to ask; whose area was it?” he asked, now sounding more focused.

“Area?”  Robert replied.

“Where we are missing money,” Charlie smirked. “I thought you said you’d been covering the business?”

“Oh,” Robert smiled, “The Blakes’.”

“Who?” Charlie said.

Robert held in a sigh. Did his friend not even remember his own stupid decision?

“The Blake brothers; you know them. Nasty little bastards. Mum ran a whore house in Hammersmith years ago—they always go on about how their mum was with your parents on the boat coming over, you know?” Robert looked at Charlie for a reaction.

Charlie shrugged. Robert hoped this was a deliberate ploy to hide his poor decision in recruiting the Blakes, but realised this might be massively optimistic.

“Well, long story short, they watched their mum get butchered by some Jack the Ripper type.”

“Nice story,” Charlie retorted.

“Yeah well, I suppose few real-life ones are. But the reason for the story is it’s made the three sons really nasty pieces of work,” Robert looked again for a reaction. “Some would say perfectly constructed for the line of work they fulfil for us? Or alternatively massive fucking liabilities walking around tooled up and quoting our name,” Robert added, unable to hide the vindictive dig at his friend.

“Hardly perfect; reliability and predictability are more important qualities,” replied Charlie.

“Hindsight’s a beautiful thing,” Robert said, picking up another magazine. He desperately hoped that this was his friend’s attempt at humour and not another sign his mind was slipping. Robert couldn’t help but wonder what state this firm would have been in already if he wasn’t around. How he missed the viscous Charlie O’Neil that scared London enough to adopt him as the undisputed boss of the capital.