The Life (43 page)

Seeing Terrence Allen reduced to this was actually quite enjoyable, he decided. The man was still being a Grade-A arsehole even though he was so deep in the shit a taskforce of Irish navvies couldn’t fucking dig him out of it.

‘This place is worse than a fucking tip. Even the stairs stink of piss as you walk up them. You would think animals had lived here, not human fucking beings.’

Terry was in no mood for chit chat, especially when it reminded him of how low he had sunk. ‘What are you doing, Petey? A GNVQ in stating the fucking obvious?’

Petey laughed; he could be very funny at times, could old Terry.

‘Is Billy all right?’

Petey guessed he had already sussed out the answer, but he accepted the question had to be asked. ‘Your brother was a fucking diamond, Tel. He was tortured – you know my Uncle Daniel – he does enjoy a nice family torture, bless him. He cut Billy’s fingers off, put a blowtorch to his feet, the whole shebang, and that brother of yours never uttered a fucking word out of place. Even my dad and my Uncle Daniel were impressed with his stoicism. Though, as you can imagine, his attitude did rather aggravate the situation. But, the main thing is, we are in the clear.’

Terry was nodding; he had known Billy would not break. He had been a man of few brain cells, but an overabundance of front. He had been worried for nothing. He was only sorry the news of his brother’s death had not really affected him more. Terrence knew that his brother had always been loyal to him; unfortunately, he had never returned that particular favour.

‘Where’s his body?’

Petey smiled. ‘He was crushed. They slung him in the boot of an old Ford Sierra. A fitting end really – he was never a car man, was he? Drive any heap of old shit, him. No class. He looked what he was – cheap and nasty.’

Terry knew that Petey was baiting him; that was Petey’s biggest failing – he never knew when to shut his big trap. But Terry needed Petey more than ever now that everything had fallen so spectacularly out of bed. He took a deep breath to control his anger, before saying. ‘So, what’s the next step then,
Pete? Have you sorted me out a refuge until such time as we can put plan B into action? I don’t think we should look towards Spain or the Algarve. I think there’s too many people we know there. But how about Southern Ireland?’

Petey smiled easily. ‘It’s sorted, Terrence. I’ve got you somewhere no one will ever get to you.’

Terry grinned; this was more like it. ‘I knew I could fucking count on you, Petey. Once your dad and his brother are out of the way, we can fucking clean up.’

Petey laughed with him. ‘True, but that’s also the bugbear, ain’t it? I mean, how am I going to explain
you
away to the boys? Liam, my brother,
maybe
might swallow, but I doubt it very much. He’s never liked you – thinks you’re a cunt actually. But my cousins won’t be so easily persuaded of your innocence. Their old mum died, remember? My Auntie Lena, the East End’s original Pat Butcher. If nothing else, at least no one will have to witness her fucking appalling dress sense any more. Every cloud, eh? But, back to my cousins.
They
will not be willing to forgive and forget, will they? Dessie from the pub put you two right in it, I’m afraid, so, basically, you have no fucking chance of redeeming yourself – not as far as I can see anyway.’

‘But they don’t know that as gospel, do they? Surely they would listen to you?’

Petey sighed theatrically. ‘I’m not sure they would, Terrence. That’s the melon scratcher really, don’t you agree?’

Terrence Allen was tired, wired and half pissed, but the general gist of Petey’s conversation was not lost on him. He felt the sick dread wash over him;
this
was the only ending that Petey Bailey had ever envisaged. Now that he was without a use and knew far too much for comfort, Terry was no more than another job to be done. He had left his weapon in his coat, and his coat was in the kitchen. He looked at Petey Bailey and said honestly,
‘Just do me one favour, Petey – let my body be found. At least my mum will be able to bury one of her sons.’

Petey nodded; that seemed more than fair to him. ‘Consider it done, mate.’

Petey took out a sawn-off shotgun from a long pocket his tailor had sewn especially into the lining of his overcoat. It was almost undetectable to the naked eye – unless you knew what you were looking for, of course.

Terry knew it had been all over for him a long time ago.

‘Look on the bright side, Tel – at least this will be quick. Not like your poor brother who died in fucking agony. Small mercies, eh? You should be found on Monday morning. I understand that’s when the council crew is coming in to rip out the fireplaces and the boilers.’

Terry nodded. He felt strangely calm; he had no choice but to accept the inevitable.

Petey shot him twice – once in the belly and then, standing above him, he watched him squirm for a few seconds before he pumped the second round into his head.

The spray went everywhere; Petey had brains and bone all over his overcoat. He was annoyed because he had liked this coat
– it had cost a fucking arm and a leg. He had made this look like a gangland hit, so everyone would assume that Terrence Allen had mugged someone else off; his death would, hopefully, put a line under the last few days. The Baileys would be pleased that the Allens were gone for good. They would speculate, of course, about who the Allens had been working for or with, but they could speculate all they fucking liked. They couldn’t prove a fucking thing, and that was the main objective as far as Petey was concerned.

If the plan had come off, he would have taken the Allens out anyway; all he had wanted was his father and his uncle out of the
frame. He was sick and tired of them both – fucking dinosaurs, the pair of them.

He placed the gun back inside his coat and, walking from the room, he shut the front door quietly behind him. He placed his coat and the gun in the boot of his car. Then he took out a pack of wet wipes and cleaned himself up as best he could.

He was whistling light-heartedly as he pulled away from the kerb. It was a shame that Lena had got in the car that night;
if she hadn’t his father would have been dead and, within days, his brother would have followed suit. Then Petey would have been able to take the reins and, finally, he could have come into his own. But best laid plans as his old dad would say. There would be other opportunities, he would make sure of that.

Until then, he would just bide his time and keep a beady eye out for the next big opportunity to come his way. He wasn’t too bothered; there was always another Terrence Allen around the corner – it was what made the Life so interesting.

As his dad had once said to him, getting to the top was the easy bit, it was staying there that took the hard work. He was in his thirties, and he was no Prince Charles – he had no intention of waiting around for fucking years to get what was rightfully his. He wanted it now, while he was still young enough to enjoy it.

Danny Bailey and Delroy were eating breakfast in a café in Manor Park. They were both tired out.

‘I went
everywhere
, Danny. I tell you, Terry Allen was nowhere to be found. Now his body turns up in a fucking squat in Barking? It stinks.’

Danny was inclined to agree with his friend, but he didn’t say that. Instead he said nonchalantly, ‘How so?’

Delroy grinned, he knew this fucker so well. Danny Bailey wouldn’t commit if the Pope himself requested it.

‘You know exactly what I mean. Whoever shot Terrence would be crowing about it. Whoever it was would know that there was a price on his head. A fucking hefty price at that.’

Danny agreed; this did stink. Anyone with half a brain would happily put their hand up to Terrence Allen’s murder. ‘Maybe, though, whoever ironed him out was behind the bombing? And, be fair, it would be in their interests to keep that quiet, wouldn’t it?’

Delroy nodded; that made sense. ‘But think about it this way: how would we know about that? We have nothing, so surely it would make more sense to own up, and concoct a fucking feasible story about how the Allens had them over? I’m telling you, this feels wrong. No one seems to know
anything
about
the bombing and, let’s face it, Danny, we have exhausted every fucking avenue open to us. Even the Filth can’t come up with anyone who the Allens might have been in bed with. Half the Faces in the Smoke were in the club the night it blew – they wouldn’t fucking put themselves in the firing line, would they? Suppose the gas main went with the bomb – that would have taken out everyone in the fucking club. It’s all wrong. We are missing something or, more to the point,
someone
.’

Danny was aware that his uncle and his dad were both thinking along the same lines. It had to be someone they knew and knew well. He shrugged. ‘I want them. I want them for what they did to my mum – she was an innocent, like most of the people in that club. They were after my Uncle Peter, and that means this had to be the work of someone who has enough clout to follow it through.’

Delroy nodded his agreement. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying all along, for fuck’s sake!’

Their breakfast arrived, and they both tucked in with relish. Danny was surprised at how hungry he was – since the bombing he had been almost on autopilot. Like everyone in the family he had been so shocked he had not really been able to think properly. He missed his mum; she had been a good woman, and she had cared for them deeply. It was still too raw to take in.

He sipped at his tea and, as he chatted idly with Delroy he had an idea. He hoped that it might give them a clue as to who they were to look out for.

Davey and Jamsie were both watching over their sister, and Tania knew they were under orders from their dad. She wished they would both go away and leave her in peace; she loved them dearly, but neither of them could ever be accused of being scintillating company. She did appreciate that they were trying to look after her. It hadn’t occurred to them until their mother had died, just how little contact they had with her on a regular basis. She’d been closer to Davey than any of them growing up but, as he’d become more a part of the business with Danny, they’d spent less time together. There was a large age difference, after all. Their clumsy attempts at comforting her were sweet, but after the last week all she really wanted was to get the funeral over and attempt to pick up the strands of her life.

None of her college friends had been near; she understood why. Her mum’s death had been plastered all over the papers and, in those same papers, her family name had been linked with violence and crime – alleged, of course. It had still hurt – it was hard being a Bailey sometimes.

She wished her nana and her auntie would hurry up; then her brothers could go out with clear consciences, and she could go through the funeral arrangements and make sure they had not forgotten anything.

She went to the kitchen and, putting the kettle on, she looked around her and made sure everything was shining and clean;
it was the least she could do for her mother. Lena had always prided herself on her home, and she knew it was up to her to carry that on. Tania was the lady of the house now whether she wanted to be or not. At least while she was scrubbing and washing, she wasn’t thinking too much – that was something, she supposed. But she had to face her cousin Petey at some point, and she was dreading it. The shame she felt was still eating away at her.

‘She looks awful. She shouldn’t be on her own so much.’ Imelda was worried about her young cousin; she felt so helpless that there was nothing any of them could do to make her feel better.

‘She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.’ Theresa sounded sure of that, and Imelda hoped she was right.

Ria shrugged. She agreed with her daughter, but it was a difficult situation. Lena’s death had been so horrendous – it wasn’t as if she had died of an illness or a tragic accident, she had been
murdered
, and that was something no one would ever really get over.

Poor Tania would have to live with it for the rest of her life, as
she
would have to live with the guilt that she was still relieved that it was not her husband who had died; Ria hated herself for that. But Peter was her life; she would lose her own children first –
had
lost one – that is how much she loved him. The knowledge pained her, but she was more than capable of this kind of selfishness, that was the truth.

Tania walked into the kitchen, and she could tell that her aunt, cousin and grandmother had been talking about her. She wished she had the words to tell them that she appreciated their concern; she was lucky to have so many people looking out for her.

‘The police are still reluctant to release your mum’s remains,
but they have assured me it won’t be long now.’ Ria’s voice was choked with emotion.

‘We’ll give her a real good send off, Tania. She would want that. I remember when you were born, she was so happy. She really wanted a girl, and you were everything she had wished for in a daughter. She loved you dearly.’ Theresa’s voice was strong, and Tania was glad she had her nearby. Her nana was a character, there was no doubting that, but she was very loving in her own rough way. She had a knack of putting things into perspective, and that was exactly what Tania needed now.

Everyone pussyfooting around her was wearing her down; they meant well, but there were too many Baileys being far too solicitous for her liking. She just wanted to grieve in peace – and not just for her mum, but for herself as well. Petey had destroyed her confidence and her faith in herself. All her long-cherished hopes and dreams had been demolished in the most humiliating experience of her life to date. Her nana used to say,
be careful what you ask for, you just might get it
. Never was a truer word spoken.

The back door opened and Petey Bailey came bowling into the kitchen as if her thoughts had conjured him up. Tania was so taken aback she nearly choked on her cup of coffee. He kissed them each in turn, and Tania felt him squeeze her shoulder; his touch made her skin crawl.