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Chapter Eleven

'No, fuck off. You are having a tin bath, I hope?'

Trevor didn't laugh as he didn't think it was actually expected of him. Pat Brodie's voice was high enough not just to sound surprised, but to also convey major disbelief.

'How much did they skank then?' Patrick was trying to keep his breathing normal and not let his anger get the better of him. When he was like this he was capable of anything and he needed to hear everything that had occurred so he would not go off half-cocked.

'Over a hundred grand and, have a guess what, I had to go and get the money for them. They knew I pay out quick and that is what they were banking on. I had to hand over my hard-earned poke to those fucking eejits without being able to say anything. If I had argued, they would have graved me without a second's thought.'

The fear was still in Trevor's voice and Patrick knew that he was obviously still feeling the terror that only that kind of threat could bring. Death threats were bad enough but when you knew it was not just a threat but a real possibility, it could really fuck up your day. Especially when you also had to undergo open-wallet surgery or the threats would materialise in seconds.

Patrick was itching to make amends; the fact that Trevor was not just a mate but under his protection was well-known. Trevor paid him a decent slice of wedge to make sure he could sit in any game and be safe and secure.

The cards were a hard game for people like Trevor. He was a one-off, a real player; he was the exception to the rule. Somehow, Trevor won more often than he lost. He was a nice bloke as well, a decent guy, in fact. Patrick had always liked him and, more to the point, respected his talent because he knew that only a few people were given such a gift. He had watched Trevor over the years and he could not express in words just how fucking amazing the man was with a deck of cards and a decent pot. But the bottom line was that Trevor was not a fighter. He was not a hard man and he didn't want to be. That was the whole idea of making a few quid, you didn't have to be anything. You bought the safety you required and you got what you paid for. To have Trevor here now, in a terrible state, telling him that he had been fleeced by three baboons and a nancy boy, was so outrageous that Patrick wanted to rip someone's head off just for the hell of it.

'Did you know them? Do you know where they drink? Anything that might tell us who was the brains behind it.'

Trevor nodded. 'The big one I recognised. It took me a while to suss it out but I've seen him with young Dave Williams. He's been in the casino a few times. I think he was nervous of me because I kept staring at him; he was getting right shirty.'

'Dave Williams?'

Patrick just stopped himself from saying, 'My Dave.'

Trevor nodded. 'I'm sure, Pat.'

Pat stood up and looked at Trevor for long moments, his eyes darkening with his growing anger. Then he suddenly said, 'The fucking two-faced cunt.'

Patrick's answer and the way it was delivered was the single most shocking thing that Trevor had ever heard. Patrick Brodie was known as a hard case but no one knew what he was really capable of.

Pat was sensible enough to keep the real villainy out of the mouths of locals. He knew that gossip was what put most people behind bars. Gossip usually had a grain of truth in it and it always amazed him when men discussed their skulduggery in public; it was like asking for a tug from the filth. Being well known was a very good reason to keep your trap shut because everything about you was discussed, exaggerated and believed by everyone around you. It was human nature and the only way to keep safe was to keep quiet.

Patrick had done some bastard things over the years and very few people knew about them. If they were ever discussed and the story made its way back to him, he would be able to pinpoint the culprit in seconds. The only way you could keep on top of the game was to fucking keep stum.

Dave was probably only the fall guy, it was obvious who the big man was. It was Dennis he should be going after. And not before time either. He had warned Dave what would happen if he stepped on his toes again and now it was time to dole out some retribution. He had swallowed because of Dave and the fact that he had always had time for him. Even after the last debacle he had tried not to go over the top.

Well, he was done with being nice and trying to honour a friendship that was well past its sell-by date. He was just about ready to cause serious damage and the recipient was going to be Dennis Williams. He was actually looking forward to it.

Jimmy Brick was a big lad and, like most big lads, he was used to people either trying to fight him or being convinced that he was going to hurt them. Although Jimmy could have a row when necessary, he much preferred not to, if he could avoid one.

Jimmy had a large head that was overlong, his chin was thick and angular and, coupled with his wide-spaced eyes, his protruding, thick eyebrows and his buzz cut, he was often called Frankenstein. Even his mum had mentioned the likeness on more than one occasion. The family joke was that when he had finally emerged from his poor mother, the size of his head, which had caused her such torment, was commented on by all the women helping with the delivery. His granny had apparently taken one look at the boy who had taken nearly forty-eight hours to come into the world and shrieked.

'For Christ's sake, shove the ugly bastard back in!'

The laughter this had always received was not so much hurtful any more, as it was expected. Jimmy was past caring; looks were never going to be his strong point, he had soon sussed that much out. And as he had seen his baby pictures, he was the first to admit that his granny had got a point.

He had been a very ugly child and adolescence had not made him any better. He had appalling acne and, coupled with his protruding brows and his loose bottom lip, he had settled down to a life of tranquillity. Jimmy had been his granny's favourite in the end and she had helped him come to terms with his looks by telling him that he had two choices: to hide away or to learn to accept the stares he got from people and remind himself that they couldn't help it. He was an ugly fucker and nothing was ever going to change that. Harsh as that was, he was glad of her and her common sense; he had learned to live with himself and he was more than aware that many so-called beauties would never achieve that. Good looks, his granny had always told him, were a curse. He had the chance to be loved for himself. No one had loved him yet, but he was confident that once he had cracked it and had a few quid, that would come.

Women were willing to overlook a lot for a nice house and an easy life. He just hoped the kids did not get his big head and cause whoever he married the same pain he had caused his poor mother. She was still going on about it now, all these years later.

Jimmy smiled at the thought. He had a nice easy temperament that stood him in good stead with the people who finally bothered to get to know him properly; his features made him look ferocious and stopped most overtures of friendship in their tracks.

Jimmy Brick was a really nice guy and he knew that better than anyone else. He was happy enough in his way and he enjoyed his life and enjoyed his job. As he often wondered, how many people could say that?

As Jimmy walked into Patrick Brodie's office, he was smiling. Pat grinned at the guy he genuinely liked and who he also felt so very sorry for. He was one ugly bastard and that was being honest.

'All right, mate?'

Patrick nodded and said nonchalantly, 'Sit down, mate. I have a proposition to put to you, Jimmy, me boy, and I want an answer soon as. OK?'

Jimmy nodded and, as he sat down, Patrick saw the way he hitched his trouser legs up so as not to crease them too much; he was so fastidious in his dress that it was almost sad to watch him. As Lil had once pointed out, Jimmy looked like the Missing Link. At the time, Pat had laughed, but the more he looked at the lad, the more he saw what she meant. Jimmy Brick was like a huge ape stuffed into an expensive suit. He was a lovely bloke, a decent bloke, but he was disturbing to look at for any length of time.

'What can I do for you, Mr Brodie?' The voice was rich and deep, the only asset Jimmy possessed.

Patrick loved the way Jimmy always addressed him by his full title when work was being discussed. It was another of the things he liked about Jimmy Brick. He knew that Jimmy separated his work from his real life, which was something he did as well. It was a necessity in their game.

'Jimmy, mate, I want to offer you an in, a real in. Good money and a lot of hard work. What do you say?'

Patrick was pleased to see the boy blush with pleasure and he was more certain than ever that he had chosen the right candidate for the job.

Jimmy held open his arms but he was having difficulty in finding the words he needed to accept the position. His face, though, spoke volumes.

Patrick poured them both large Scotches and, placing the cut-glass tumbler in Jimmy's hand, he said happily, 'To many years, mate.'

Jimmy clinked his glass with gusto, nearly shattering them both, and reminding them of his extraordinary strength. He said shyly, 'I am absolutely over the moon, Mr Brodie. It is an honour to be allowed to work with a person such as yourself.'

It was flowery, it was cheesy, but it was from the heart. Patrick Brodie shook his head and, laughing, he said sotto voce, 'Enough of that poof talk. Anyone hears us and they might think we're a couple of shit-stabbers!'

Jimmy Brick laughed out loud then; his head was thrown back and the laugh was loud and expressive. Patrick decided he liked the sound of it. Jimmy was going to be an asset, he was sure of that.

'We have our first assignment tonight, mate. We are going to give Dennis Williams the fright of his fucking life.'

Patrick saw that Jimmy was pleased about that and wondered if anyone, anywhere, had ever actually liked Dennis Williams.

'Shall I get me tool kit?'

Patrick grinned then and said happily, 'What do you think?'

For all his big talk, Dennis Williams was not expecting Patrick Brodie to come looking for him personally. It was something he had not allowed for at any point, or even thought was a possibility. Consequently, when Patrick Brodie swooped on him and his brothers on their territory, in their own local, he was nonplussed, to say the least.

Patrick had crashed through the heavy wooden doors of the Mill House in Dagenham like an avenging angel. It was a Saturday night so it was packed out with families. Children ran around in their best clothes playing kiss-chase and waiting for the band to play 'Pennies from Heaven'. This was the highlight of their evening, when the adults would throw their change on to the dance floor and the kids would scramble round collecting as much money as they could. Then the disco would commence and the lights would be dimmed and the parents would feel like they were out for the night at last, as the kids went outside where there was bright light and other kids' chatter to interest them.

The Mill House was a real social club. It had the atmosphere that guaranteed a good night out for families and couples alike. It was shabby in the light of day but, come the evening, it took on a magic all of its own. It smelt of crisps, stale beer and a multitude of different perfumes. The tables shone with polish and huge tin ashtrays bore legends such as Marlboro Reds or Senior Service. The floor was wooden and scuffed but so shiny the children could start their night off by sliding from one end of it to the other until they would eventually be told off by an adult. The boys would swagger away like little hard men and go outside into the evening air where they could swagger some more and swear their heads off to impress the girls. It was the beginning of the mating ritual, the first lesson in making a girl notice you and respect you. It was a timeless dance that had been enacted by their parents and grandparents before them. They learned to court while drinking Tizer and playing kiss-chase. Fingers would explore and hands would be allowed liberties and everyone was hot and flushed with this new knowledge that they had acquired.

It was a real family club, not really the kind of setting the Williams boys wanted and not the kind of place where the regulars wanted to see the numerous Williams brothers. Now, though, Dave Williams and his brothers used the Mill House as their base, mainly because they were not sure if they were really welcome in any of the pubs they had frequented for years.

The Williams boys were used to the Mill House now and they were pleased to discover that they were the only real Faces who used the place. They were at first an anomaly and, for the most part, their foray into a local club house had been treated with a certain degree of excitement, until, that is, the novelty had worn off. Seeing the Williams brothers now and again was one thing. Having them there all the time, using the place as their office, was now starting to irritate a lot of the regulars. They were all right, but dangerous. The committee members, older men with families and jobs, were unable to stop the Williams lot from wheeling and dealing as and when they wanted to, yet they were desperate to put an end to the trade that seemed to bring in a lot of unsavoury characters. The big fear, of course, was that the place would be raided and closed down by the police. No one had the nerve to discuss the worries of the family men and the fear for their kids with the Williams family because they were not, what was commonly known as approachable, if the subject touched on them or their businesses in a derogatory way. In fact, they were distinctly cold and menacing. Dennis in particular, who, with his scarred face and head and his broken-toothed grin, could frighten a banshee, let alone anyone else. Dennis was a hard man and he didn't try to hide it. He revelled in his notoriety and it was this that was such a worry to most people. He was vicious when viciousness wasn't warranted or indeed needed.

Being a Face was all Dave wanted from life, all he had ever wanted. A Face was a Face was a Face, as old man Williams would say to them as kids. He had loved Faces, he basked in their reflected glory and lived for the glamour he tried to share in. Now they were Faces in their own right and they were well-known enough to be able to deal their drugs here and share their glamour with a few of the local bully-boys who, like their father before them, would talk about them with hushed tones and respect.

It was a long way from when he was Brodie's main boy and Dave had eventually come to terms with that; at least he let his brothers think so. He knew that Dennis was living on borrowed time. He had hoped that he could keep him away from Patrick and Spider long enough for them to calm down a bit. Maybe even give Dennis another chance. Dave sighed. He was on the powder again and he knew that it was only the speed making him believe that Dennis could walk away from all the shit he had created. He was going to have to answer for his stupidity at some point and the burning question was, when? They couldn't hide away here for ever. He was in such a high state that he was actually getting the rushes again and everything was suddenly so real and bright he felt the urge to start dancing.

Dave went into the toilet and cut himself another line. If only they sold this stuff to the punters they would be rocking with him. They didn't though. It was cut to fuck by the time they sold it off. But it was a good buzz whatever and, as he snorted the amphetamine, he felt the burn inside his nose that told him it had been cut with strychnine at some point. Dave grinned and said to his reflection, 'Bring back glucose, all is forgiven.'

Dave was laughing like a hyena at his own joke and he folded his wrap up carefully before going back out to the club. As he shuffled out of the toilet and went back into the club, the noise hit him like a wall and he winced in pain. He saw a couple of his dealers at the bar and sighed.

They were now responsible for any dope that shot out of the Anglers, the old man's pub opposite the Mill House, and a few other little pubs around and about that Patrick and Spider wouldn't be interested in. The Volunteer pub on the Barking and Dagenham roundabout was where they should be dealing, it was always kicking. The club there was called Flanagan's Speakeasy and it was packed to capacity almost every night. But Spicier had that one sewn up so they let it go.

Dave started chatting up a young girl with badly permed black hair, glitter on her cheekbones and a bright yellow satin jacket that didn't cover her huge breasts. He knew, without asking her, that she was into Marc Bolan. Well, she could be into the fucking Beam River if she wanted to. All he cared about was a fuck. Although whether he was capable of any kind of hard-on, he wasn't sure. It was worth a try though.

Dave was rocking, speeding out of his nut. He knew she was a little schoolgirl dressed up for her night out and that her father was probably watching them with fear in his heart and no way to protect his child. Dave was past caring these days. He was a nervous wreck; he just seemed to be waiting for the balloon to go up. He was burdened with the guilt of nearly killing his brother; the realisation that he was capable of nearly murdering his own flesh and blood had been a revelation. The fact that he had enjoyed it, was sorry he had not finished the job, was what was making him so uneasy. Dennis was his brother and he loved him. Unfortunately, he was also a vain, temperamental and violent lunatic who would always bring trouble to their door. Dennis couldn't even help it, he just attracted trouble. In all honesty, a lot of the time he caused it, mainly because he loved the adrenaline rush it brought him. And the attention, he loved to be the centre of attention, always for the wrong reasons. Dave loved his brother but hated him with a vengeance for all the trouble he had brought to his doorstep. Because it was always left to him to clear up the mess, he was always the fall guy. And now they had no real income any more, no security, because Patrick Brodie had aimed them out of it and so he should. Patrick had given him the opportunity to come back, but how could he? Dennis wouldn't last five minutes on his own, and as for his other brothers, he had seen more brains on a butcher's floor. Dennis was a fucking liability and that was something that would never change.

As Patrick and his boys crashed through the doors and into the club, Dave almost felt relieved that this was finally happening and would soon be over.

Dennis was so surprised that he just stood there open-mouthed and looking, as more than one person noted, gormless.

Patrick looked at Dennis with a frown and then he said with deep disgust and an underlying menace that was evident to everyone around them, 'You had to be expecting me, Dennis, so what's with the fucking shocked face? Surely you didn't think I had forgotten about you?'

Patrick Brodie was talking to him and worse, was treating him, like he was a nothing, a no-neck, the shit on his shoes and Dennis knew that only a madman would be fool enough to try to salvage what was left of their reputation by answering him back. He was expected to swallow his knob and he knew that anyone with half a brain would shut the fuck up, but was not sure how much brain he actually had left.

The people around the bar were thrilled to see Patrick Brodie in their little club; they were also secretly hoping that he might knock Dennis Williams on to his arse. The general consensus was that he was a big-mouthed toss-pot, though no one would say that to his face of course. Dennis was under the mistaken impression that he was popular. Faces were, for the most part, Diamond Geezers; nice blokes who were approachable and friendly and who didn't feel the need to be a hard man twenty-four-seven. Whereas the Dennis Williamses of the world, although they might be afforded the same courtesy as other Faces, were not liked enough to command either loyalty or respect from anyone around them. At least not when there was a real, bona fide Face making them look like they were a fool. A plastic gangster was a term that had recently come into common usage and it now seemed a fitting description for Dennis Williams.

Dave went to Patrick and tried to salvage at least a shred of the friendship they had shared for so long. 'Not in here, Pat, eh?'

Patrick almost sneered at his one-time friend. His thick dark hair was almost blue in the disco lights and his eyes were like slits as he looked Dave up and down with obvious distaste.

'I want my fucking money and I want it now.'

Dave screwed his handsome face up into a frown of confused wonderment. It was a face that Patrick had seen him pull once too often in the past when they were questioning someone and not getting the answers they required.

'What is he on about, Den?'

Patrick was not surprised that Dave took his word over his brother's; if Dennis Williams was asked what he had for breakfast he would add a sausage. Lying came so easily to him that he couldn't distinguish between the truth and his fannying any more.

'Dennis, please.'

The music had stopped and everyone was watching them closely. Patrick flicked his head at Dennis and Jimmy Brick walked over to him and, with a pretence of friendliness, he ushered him out of the club and into a waiting car. Dennis was like a little lamb. He knew when he was beaten and he was not going to cause himself any more pain than necessary.

Patrick walked out then, followed by his other two minders and Dave. He turned at the doorway and said, 'Go back, Dave. This is going to be fucking seriously painful and before you get all fucking nostalgic for your brother, remember this: he had a hundred grand off my mate earlier today and that was the straw that broke this fucking cunt's back, all right?' He was not sure why he was justifying hammering Dennis Williams, but he heard himself doing it anyway. He respected and liked Dave so he didn't want to give him false hopes or any lies.

'Don't kill him, Pat, please. Me mum would go off her head.' Patrick laughed then. 'Your mum is so far off her fucking head, even Ozzy Osbourne talks sense in comparison to her. Now fuck off and leave me to sort this out once and for all.'

As Patrick got into the car with Dennis and Jimmy, Dave heard him saying quietly and authoritatively, 'Look, Den, my old nan used to say there are two tragedies in life. One is not getting what you want and the other is getting it. You are getting what you have been asking for, Dennis, and you are not getting what you want. Deal with it and fucking stop eyeballing me, you fucking ugly cunt.'

Dennis was shaking with fear. Jimmy Brick was a torturer who was known to have no empathy with his victims and he was capable of inflicting horrific injuries without any kind of remorse at all. He had stripped a man of all the skin on his leg just to find out if he had slept with a known associate's wife. The guy was banged up and had heard a whisper; he had appealed to Jimmy to find out the truth of it so he could put his mind at rest. Jimmy had taken the man's skin off in long strips and when he had found out what he wanted, he had dumped the guy in a wheelie bin minus his skin, his ears and his scrotum. The worst thing of all though, was that he had done that for a favour, not even for remuneration or to get a rep. It had been done as a favour, that's all.

Now, Dennis saw Jimmy staring at his scars and he knew, without a second's doubt, that he was already working out the best way to go about his night's work. He would open a few of the scars for maximum pain and add a few more for good measure.

Dennis suddenly felt the cold hand of fear that comes to all violent people. They were always the biggest cowards when it was their turn to play and Dennis Williams was already crying silently before they had even turned out of the car park and on to the A13. Dave stood in the doorway of the Mill House and watched the car until the tail-lights disappeared into the distance.

Spider was in the Beehive in Brixton waiting for Cain to pick him up and eyeing up a tall African girl with dark eyes and four-inch platforms.

She was smiling at him with the invitation he was used to being offered and with the same high-handedness that always attracted him to his women. But he had enough on his hands at the moment with his latest partner and the tantrums she could command at any time of the day or night. He put this one in the back of his mind for future reference, though it was worth giving her a smile anyway. You never knew what the future might bring.

Spider was on his fifth pint of Guinness when Cain came in and motioned for him to go outside. For the first time in years, he saw his brother looking worried and he followed him outside with trepidation. A lot was going on this night and he wondered what part they would have to play in it.

Dennis was lying on a concrete floor and he could feel the coldness and the dampness seeping into his bones. He had been lying there for what seemed a long time, though in reality it had only been about forty-five minutes. He was trussed up like a chicken, his hands were tied behind his back and his legs were tied at the knees, making it hard to get himself comfortable. He could smell oil and petrol and the smells were not making him feel any better. He was not sure exactly where he was. It was too dark and he had been too frightened to really take any notice of where he was going; he had been told to look at the floor of the car and he had complied because he knew he was now relying on the friendship he had once had with Brodie to see him through till the morning.

His eyes were getting accustomed to the dimness and he looked around him with interest; he could see tyres piled up, smell the rubber and the dirt. There were also a lot of packing crates that he guessed held either knocked-off gear or drugs and as he was now sobering up by the second he wondered whose garage he was now incarcerated in. He hoped it wasn't anyone he knew well; the shame would be unbearable. As would this whole episode if it became common knowledge.

This was going to be the humiliation of a lifetime and he knew, without a doubt, that he would have to suffer it if he was going to come out with his life. Dennis finally understood that he had crossed all the lines and that he was not hard enough to ever take on the big boys. It was too early in his career and he was not liked enough to expect any kind of back-up. Dave had warned him over and over again and had even tried to knock some sense into him but he had not believed that this night would ever really come.

The door opened and as the lights were switched on, he felt the burn behind his eyes and the sting of the tears that he knew were more about terror than anything else. He watched warily as Jimmy walked purposefully towards a large workbench with a vice on one end and an array of spray cans on the other. Dennis saw then that this was a working garage so that meant they only had a few hours until the place would be a hive of activity.

He wondered how long he would be on this floor and how much of his blood would be spilt on the sawdust that Jimmy was now sprinkling liberally all around him. He could hear the faint sounds of cars in the distance and knew he was most likely still in the Smoke.

As he watched Jimmy prepare himself for his night's work, he understood just how he had made other people feel over the years, and he understood that with Jimmy Brick this wasn't about being a hard man, it was just something he did when requested and something that he knew he did well.

Dennis could hear a kettle boiling in the background; he hoped that it wasn't going to be part of his punishment and he prayed that whatever happened he would be man enough to take it without begging or pleading. Even now, how he was perceived was still his main priority and he still believed that he had enough credibility left to be given an easy ride.

Then, when he saw Jimmy Brick taking out his chisels and his hammers, he lost it completely and it took Patrick and Jimmy ten minutes to finally gag him and stop the screaming.

They were laughing as they did this, which did nothing to allay the fears of Dennis Williams.