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Chapter Eighteen

Spider walked out of the hospital with Jimmy Brick; both of them were still in shock. Lil, God help her, had given birth to another boy; that was all she needed now, another fucking kid. They had hung about and stayed with her because they had not known what else to do. When the driver had come in and told them what had happened they had thought it was some kind of macabre joke. When they had gone round there and seen the carnage for themselves, it had still been unbelievable.

Patrick's death had been such a shock that no one seemed to believe it was true. They were still unsure, although Spider had identified the body. But it had been unrecognisable as a human being, let alone Patrick. Cain's death had hit Spider hard but Patrick's death had hit him in more than just an emotional sense; it was the catalyst for a whole new set of problems.

As Jimmy and Spider stood in the cold air they looked at each other and neither knew what to say about the night's events. It was so unbelievable that Patrick Brodie had been taken out by the Williams brothers: that it had been well-planned and well-executed was outrageous enough but that it had been the Williamses behind it was staggering. It seemed Ricky Williams was a law unto himself and within hours of Brodie's death he had made himself busy. He had been ingratiating himself with Pat's main contenders and displaying an acumen and intelligence that had brought for him, if not the friendship he craved, the respect that was his due off the people who mattered. The police had made a point of investigating the event with as much fervour as they would a black-on-black killing, meaning they wouldn't break a sweat. Which told them that someone was already onside with the Williams brothers and that whoever it was had plenty of sway where it counted.

'Fucking outrageous. Killing Patrick Brodie like that.' Jimmy's voice was loud and a couple of men smoking cigarettes nearby while waiting for a friend to get his head stitched looked over quickly and, seeing the men's demeanour, decided not to rattle anyone's cage. Jimmy looked bad enough with his scarred face and his obvious aggressiveness and the coon looked a handful and all, but the mention of Brodie and the night's events was enough to quiet even their natural belligerence. A tear-up was one thing, certain death was something else entirely. They were strictly bully boys; a row in the pub, a nicking, and home in time for pub opening once again.

'Had your fucking look, you cunts?'

Jimmy wanted to vent his anger and these muppets looked good enough for his purpose. He was paranoid at the best of times but now he was convinced they were tailing him and he was not going to let anyone mug him off. Brodie's death had certainly fuelled his paranoia. For all he knew these were on a wage and were waiting to jump him and take him out. In their fucking dreams.

Jimmy moved towards them and Spider grabbed his arm.

'What the fuck you doing? They ain't worth a wank.'

Spider gestured to the men with his free hand, dismissing them with a wave. They did not need any more encouragement and hurried off into the shadows.

Jimmy shrugged Spider's restraining arm away, clenching his fists in anger.

'They mullered him, Jimmy' Spider shook his head. 'He was completely destroyed. I said it was him but all I recognised was his ring, you know, the black onyx one. But truth be told, it could have been a side of beef lying on that slab.'

Jimmy nodded. He had seen Patrick lying in the hallway and he would never forget that sight. Poor Lil's terrified screaming and the wide-eyed children huddled together on the sofa. Poor Pat Junior covered in his dad's blood, his eyes red-rimmed from crying and still trying to protect his siblings. He knew the boy was terrified the Williams lot would come back. He wasn't a stupid kid, he knew the score, he knew he had been lucky to escape. He had been told how they had nearly stabbed him and he knew then that the boy would never feel safe again. It was a disgrace, a diabolical liberty.

And it had thrown him off course, that was the worst of it. Patrick had left Spider to deal with the Williams brothers and Cain and he had made a fucking serious mistake. That error had led to him being taken out by a family of morons; it was the equivalent of the Boy Scouts creaming the fucking Paratroopers.

He looked at Spider then as the reality finally kicked in.

'I ain't sucking no one's fucking cock, especially not a Williams' cock. They are scum, fucking Irish scum and they can expect a visit from me in the near future.'

Jimmy Brick was beside himself now the actual events had sunk in. Him and Pat had made a nice niche for themselves and he had liked the man and respected him. That the brothers had the audacity to butcher the man in his home in front of his pregnant wife and his children was, to him, the act of animals. It wasn't the death so much; in their game you knew you were a target but it was the way it had been executed, the way they had descended on him like a pack of fucking animals in full view of his kids. The twins were babies, little dots who Pat had doted on. The death had made a mockery of everything they held sacred; you didn't touch family, civilians or the elderly.

'Wait and see who is in the frame with them before you go making trouble for yourself.' Spider's calm voice annoyed Jimmy, even though he knew the man was right. There was serious skulduggery surrounding this night's work and until he knew the score and who was involved, it was best to keep shtum.

They stood outside the hospital smoking cigarettes and both were quiet now, having said all that was needed. Both knew that everything was about to change, not just for them but for everyone in their circle. Patrick Brodie's demise was going to cause all sorts of upsets and all those who had been involved with him were now either suspects or enemies, depending on what they did or didn't know.

'My money's on the Palmers or the Brewsters. The Williams brothers had to have had a sponsor, they couldn't fucking find their cocks without a fucking guide dog. They are amateurs, fucking no-necks, cunts. Pat should have taken them out when he had the chance, you should know that better than anyone.'

The barb hit home as Jimmy knew it would. Cain was a fucking no-neck and he had found his level with the Williams boys. 'Show me the company you keep and I'll tell you what you are. My mum was a wise old bird and she said that to me many times over the years. Cain was a knob and you know it, but he had you on his side. This shower must have a fucking good backer, they couldn't fucking rob a fucking tuck shop without someone calling the shots. No, mate, they have to be doing this for someone in the know. Someone close to it all. Ricky Williams is the genius of the family and that just means he can tie his own shoelaces. Someone has courted this and used them for their own advantage. The question is, who?'

Spider shrugged. That was exactly what he had been thinking but, until he knew the score for sure, he was keeping his own counsel. Jimmy was sound as a pound normally, but until he knew who he was pinning his colours to, he would make a point of being non-committal. It was how you kept alive in their game and Spider was going to stay around for the long-term, even if it killed him. Careless talk cost lives and this could easily turn into a war with no one involved in it really sure of whose side they should be on.

This was a melon scratcher all right and as his brother's death was still raw and the Williams brothers doing the star turns in this little drama, he knew he would have to box clever for the next few weeks. He was going to be shrewd and add to his crew, his all-black crew and, if nothing else, he was going to keep his businesses in south London and add to them as and when the opportunities arose. Spider knew that anything he had with Patrick was going to be taken away from him. This was what Pat's death was about. Gathering turf, taking what was Patrick's and using a scapegoat like Ricky to further their ends. The perpetrator of this heinous act was using the Williams brothers as a blind so they could then harvest whatever they wanted.

Spider was on his own and Cain's death still hung over him like the Sword of Damocles. He was in a very precarious position; Cain had been in bed with the Williams brothers and that would not be forgotten. Now Spider needed to see what was going to happen to the business interests he had with Patrick. Nothing was ever on paper, nothing was ever straight and he knew that a lot of his private earners would now be up for grabs and there was nothing he could do about it. A lot of Pat's clubs had silent partners, investors who would now want to stake their claim and, without Patrick around, that would now become easy. Spider had no idea who had put money in and who had not and Pat's book-keeping would require the Enigma code breakers to fucking work it out. He had never bothered with the books before because he had always trusted Patrick; he could be a cunt but he was an honest cunt and he was a good mate. The chances were that he was now fucked, well and truly fucked. It stung, it really stung, and he needed to think long and hard about his next move.

Lenny Brewster looked at Lil Brodie and felt a prickle of conscience; she was as thin as a rake and her black clothes seemed to accentuate that, as did the whiteness of her skin. She was still a looker though; her grief seemed to add a vulnerability to her that he found appealing. Once she had mourned for a reasonable length of time he thought he might have a crack at her. A few months down the line she would be missing the old one-eyed snake and the thought of shagging Brodie's old woman appealed to him. Brodie had treated her like a goddess and he knew she hadn't been mauled by anyone else; the thought of shagging her was a pleasant distraction. His wife knelt down to pray after receiving Holy Communion and he knelt beside her, looking pious with his head down as if in prayer. Lenny knew he was out of order but he was ready to take the lead and had put in place a few nice surprises for the Palmer crew. Now he felt he was entitled to anything or anyone that took his eye and tickled his fancy. Lenny had always been a force, a respected Face, and no one had realised, until now, just how big his empire had become. A genial man, he had a knack of putting people at ease. He had a repertoire of jokes that he told with skill and he was good company. He had sat and waited for his turn and it had arrived sooner than he had expected. Now it was here he intended to make the most of it.

Lil sat in the church watching her husband's funeral and anyone could see she was not up to it. As she held her new baby in her arms she was causing not only the women's tears but also the men's discomfort.

She had been had over, no doubt about that, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She was in bits but she also knew she had to box clever to salvage anything for her boys. Patrick would be cursing them to hell if he was watching but there wasn't anything he could do about it from where he was; it was up to her now.

Any monies in the bank were of course hers; not that they kept much money in the bank. Not real money anyway; if you banked it you would eventually have to explain its existence to the taxman. Lil was also the beneficiary of any insurance policies Patrick might have taken out and she should get a one-off payment from the powers that be. She would then be expected to keep her head down. Lil was now an embarrassment because everyone knew she had been royally had over. She knew the ins and outs of the clubs, she had helped run them, but that knowledge would not do her any good now; she was old news and she knew it. With five kids and a dead husband Lil was without any kind of protection. Even in her grief she knew she had to stay strong for the kids; she had to get herself together and collect what was owing her. She also knew where Patrick had hidden some of the proceeds from the various bank robberies he had given permission for over the years. She was going to make a visit to his main yard, under cover of darkness, and see what was left. It galled Lil that her life as she knew it was over, that everything Pat had worked for had been in vain. She had seen the fur coat on Lenny's old woman, it had cost a bundle, and she had walked in the church like she owned the fucking place, waving at people and nodding. She was the new First Lady and she was loving it. Well, she hoped she had better luck in that capacity than she had had.

As Lil sat in the church she felt a strange calmness come over her; she was aware of how close her family had come to complete annihilation at the hands of Ricky Williams. She knew that Tommy would have killed Pat Junior without a second's thought and she thanked God for sparing him. She accepted the fact that all her husband's hard work, the clubs, the bookies, everything he had ever undertaken, was now under new management. She knew she couldn't dispute anything, she had no power any more. As she had looked at her children that morning, she knew that she had to accept her fate with good grace and try to pick up the remnants of her life. For their sakes.

Ricky Williams had come through for his family and they were riding high on it. People were once more civil to them, overeager in their quest to be allowed a few minutes of their precious time. Ricky had known he had to do something spectacular to get them back in the groove and he had achieved his objective with outstanding results. Palmer and Brewster had both given him a public welcome worthy of a World Cup winner. Ricky was now the undisputed head of the family, he had dragged them back to where they belonged. As he stood in the toilet of the Speiler in Bermondsey that Patrick Brodie had once called his own, he looked in the mirror and admired his good looks and his dapper new outfit. Ricky loved the new fashions, he loved the materials, and in his fitted-velvet jacket and his boot-cut jeans he felt like a real tasty geezer. He loved that expression, especially when he believed it pertained to him. His euphoria was at its peak and as he sauntered back into the bar he saw his brothers, what was left of them anyway, waiting for him with smiles and drinks. Ricky downed a double brandy and, feeling the burn, he held the glass out for a refill knowing that the barmaid would not optic it, not for him; he would be given the bottle on the counter as a measure of his prestige.

He fucking loved it, loved being on top, loved having the pick of the birds and loved knowing he was being talked about in hushed tones; his escapades being related over pints of lager by people who were impressed with him, were in awe of him.

Ricky was almost strutting, so pleased was he that his plans had made it to fruition. The little sort he had acquired earlier in the day, an eighteen-year-old from Mile End with big tits and an even bigger mouth, was drunk as a skunk. He watched her trying to articulate the bollocks that passed as conversation in her world and knew that these short sharp shags were going to be a thing of the past now. He would still have a dabble, of course, but he decided that a decent-looking bird with a bit of nous about her would look much better on his arm now that he was a man of substance.

Tommy and Dave were swearing their heads off as they spoke with her and he knew that was what was bothering him. Dave, Tommy and Bernie were louts. With Patrick on board they had managed an earn of sorts but none of them really had the concentration required for long-term skulduggery; they preferred to be ornamental as opposed to instrumental and that, again, suited him. Ricky liked being the alpha male, the doer, the instigator of events. He knew his guests had arrived by the cries of greeting he could hear coming from the front bar. He saw his brothers' brows darken; they were still nervous that they might be brought to task over Patrick Brodie. It seemed that the frenzy of their combined attack, which he now knew had been brought on by the drink and drugs consumed by them earlier on in the day, worried them. They felt that people were maybe not as pleased as they were making out. He was pissed-off with them. They were like old women with their fucking stupidity; their absolute cuntishness seemed to cling to them like shit to a blanket. He watched as Alan Palmer walked over to him with his usual swagger and he held his arms out in a gesture of friendliness. Alan stopped in his tracks and held his hands up in front of him, saying loudly, 'Fuck me, we ain't on a date,' then, turning to the henchmen, who were as always half a step behind him, he called out, 'He's trying to fucking shag me. I told you, didn't I? He'd fuck anything.'

Ricky was laughing with everyone else but the avoidance of the friendly gesture was noted and filed away for future reference. He was annoyed to see his brothers laughing like drains as if it was the funniest thing they had ever heard in their lives. That's how fucking stupid they were, they couldn't see an insult even when it was in front of their fucking faces.

He had his work cut out with this lot all right and with Palmer and all, by the looks of things. He saw his little bird staggering to the toilet and, winking at one of the regulars, he gave him a score and told him to cab her. She was not going to add anything to this meet and he was sick of her.

They all ordered drinks and settled down to talk, but Ricky was not a happy potato. In fact he was about a hair's breadth away from stabbing Alan through the heart just for the fucking fun of it. He had been blanked and he knew it. But he controlled the urge to retaliate and, smiling easily, he chatted as if he had no worries in the world.

Lil was still tired from the birth and the trauma of that day. Shamus had weighed in at nearly ten pounds and, as she had remarked to her mother, it brought tears to your eyes did childbirth. He was a good baby but she was still not sleeping, even when her mother took over for her. She still had times when she believed Patrick was alive, that she had dreamt his horrific murder. Seeing him buried though had put it into perspective for her, he was gone all right and she had to try to keep herself going for the sake of the kids if nothing else. The luxury of grieving was not an option for her, she had to keep her wits about her and try to salvage something to secure their futures. There had been twenty grand in the bank accounts but she knew that was not a lot with five kids and a mother to support.

As she let herself into her husband's scrapyard she hoped that no one came bowling in. She knew the place was used for a lot more than collecting old scrap. The dogs were running free as always; the two Dobermans knew her well and she petted them as she walked to the Portakabins that passed as offices. As she let herself inside, the animals lay down and waited for her.

Lil opened the safe without even turning on the lights; she didn't need anyone seeing the place lit up. She had opened the safe and counted out wages or taken cash out for sundries more than enough times and, as the heavy metal door swung open, she felt a glimmer of excitement at what she was doing.

'I'm stealing back our own money, Pat.'

She laughed as if he had been there to answer, to share the joke with her and appreciate the irony if nothing else. She was nicking back money that had been nicked in the first place; this was his cut from bank robberies, jewellery heists and wage snatches.

The safe was empty and she wasn't really surprised, it had been a long shot. She guessed it was one of the men who worked for him, feathering his own nest while he could. Pat's death must have put the wind up a lot of people, especially those who depended on him for their livelihood.

The tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away. She was at her wits' end, she was going to need a lot of money to raise five kids.

She sat on the floor of the office. Cold and damp, it had the feel of the grave. She knew that nothing was ever going to be all right again. The tears were once more threatening, but she forced them back. There was plenty of time for crying in the future, now she needed to make sure her kids were taken care of.

Lenny Brewster was filled with his own self-importance; he had been like a youngster since the death of Patrick Brodie. A born-again wanker was how his enemies would describe him, though not to his face. Now, looking at the Williams brothers and Palmer, all waiting to greet him and ingratiate themselves into his life, he knew he was finally settled; he had taken what was rightfully his.

Ricky was all smiles, nodding to his brothers to make sure they understood the importance of the man before them. Lenny noticed the gesture and knew that the boy had at least a working knowledge of how things worked in their world.

Ricky was already clicking his fingers for the barmaid, making sure a fresh bottle of Courvoisier Brandy was opened and that the ashtrays and bar surface were cleaned. He knew the importance of respect and he respected the man who had just entered the bar like a conquering hero. Lenny Brewster was a legend, more so because he had always kept his head down and had never been a man to eliminate enemies without just cause. He had gathered an army around him and had never once trod on anyone's toes. He was a gentleman, and he was respected because of that.

Ricky saw Alan Palmer hold his arms out in much the same way he had himself; this time, though, the gesture was appreciated and returned with fervour. It galled him but he knew it was still early days for the Williams brothers; they had made a statement but now they had to prove they were consistent. That had always been their bugbear in the past; they never kept anything up. They had been given chances over and over again and they had always fucked up. So he understood the men's reticence, he would have been the same in their shoes, but it still galled him. He was now the family's facilitator and should be respected for that alone, especially after what they had achieved for the men they were now meeting with.

Lenny was all good-humoured laughter and his usual theatrical gestures. Alan Palmer, Ricky noticed, was nervous but then he had just hit the big time at last and that was something Ricky knew about. Palmer was already laughing at Lenny's jokes and as they raised their drinks in a salute, Ricky saw Lenny wink at Alan in a way that told him they had business between them already. He was confident that could only be good news for him and his brothers. As Ricky smiled and chatted he saw Tommy mutter something to Dave and Bernie. Then he pulled a wrap out of his pocket and, walking towards the men's toilets, he opened the paper package up and put his tongue in the contents to check its potency. He saw Lenny watching him and knew he was not making a good impression. Even though this was a safe bar, it was still not proper etiquette to blatantly advertise any kind of drug-taking when bosses were around. Unless they started the night off with it themselves and then it was different. This was a meet though and they should all be on top form; no one trusted the judgement of a speed freak or a cokehead. It was just common sense really and Ricky knew that Lenny was up for a lot of things, but not the Persian rugs. He expected it to be fed to his brasses; prostitutes needed the edge, everyone knew that. But he was not someone who partook of the Colombian marching gear himself. He was a drinker, pure and simple. Tommy had just made them all look like amateurs and he wished he had been more forceful when he had given his brothers their instructions on how they should behave. At times he felt like he was banging his head against a wall; this looked like amateur night on a council estate.

Alan smiled but he saw the entourage that had arrived with Lenny and he was surprised; there were five of them. He knew that Lenny was astute enough to always keep himself safe but all these goons for a friendly meet seemed like overkill and he suddenly felt intimidated. He knew Lenny was a fucking hard bastard and he also knew that he was outclassed and that it was probably his insecurity making him feel that way. But for his whole life he had relied on his instincts; any successful villain had to. It told them when they were sailing too close to the wind and when Lily Law was getting too close for comfort. It was a self-defence mechanism and his was going into overdrive for some reason. This didn't feel right; he felt like an outsider, like a spare part. Like he was nothing. Alan swallowed down his drink and tried to concentrate on the Williams brothers and the deal that he had made with Brewster. His earlier bravado was deserting him and he wished he had arrived with a full complement of minders; it would have made him feel a lot better.

The bar was slowly emptying and it was a while before anyone noticed that Ricky had gone to the toilet after Tommy and, after giving him a coating, had returned to the bar and found Lenny leaning in and talking to Palmer. It had suddenly occurred to Ricky that most of the clientele had gone. The only people left was a small crowd of men in the outer bar. They were large and they were all wearing sheepskins and they were talking quietly to each other. He knew they were tooled up but in this place that wasn't so unusual. Most people he knew had a baseball bat in their car, a gun in their house and a cosh of some description about their person. Knives and guns were an everyday item to these people but he knew that their heavy sheepskins were hiding the fact that they were tooled up. As Ricky walked back to the bar he knew in his heart what was coming.

Lenny watched Ricky as he approached and he smiled, then ordered another round of drinks. As Alan went to pick his drink up, Lenny shanked him quickly and neatly; he aimed for the liver and when Alan turned to face him, which was a natural reaction and expected, Lenny aimed once more, this time for the heart. Alan's minders watched it all without any kind of emotion.

Ricky saw Tommy, Bernie and Dave finally cop on to what the night was really about. Lenny smiled at him, a friendly and open smile that belied the psychotic personality it had always camouflaged.

'You must have known the score, Ricky? You and Palmer had to have known I couldn't trust any of you? You wiped out Brodie and as much as I appreciate that, you took a fucking diabolical liberty. People like you, scruffs and fucking numbskulls, taking it on yourselves to wipe out someone like Brodie? You didn't honestly think that would go unpunished surely?'

Lenny started to laugh then, a sarcastic laugh, a laugh full of derision and triumph. Ricky knew that they were finished and he also knew that this was not going to be a good hiding, no, a serious lesson was going to be taught here. The lesson was actually for the people who would hear about it, who would know that they had been lured to their deaths on a fucking muppets' bus pass. He was sorry then. Sorry for their mother; she had buried enough children. Sorry for himself and for his brothers.

The barmaid had disappeared and Ricky hadn't even noticed. The bar itself was well-decorated for the kind of establishment it was. The wall lights were throwing an eerie glow on Palmer's body and it was a second or two before they realised he was still alive. His breathing was ragged and loud, wet-sounding from the blood that was filling his lungs.

'Fucking hell, he has a strong constitution for a cunt.'

Everyone laughed and Ricky saw that the men from the outer bar were now walking through to join them, taking off their heavy coats and making themselves comfortable. As they rolled up their shirtsleeves he knew this was going to be a long night.

'Here, Johnjo, come and sort these out will you?'

The name was all that was needed to tell Ricky that they were going to be despatched with the maximum of pain and torture. Johnjo Milligan was a name that denoted terror; he was one of a family of Irish pikeys who had a legendary reputation. Few people had met them; they kept a low profile and spent most of their time on the fairgrounds. They were used for a number of jobs, but mainly for torture. Johnjo was a handsome individual with a lilting Dublin accent. He had a way with the ladies and a way with the police. They could never place him anywhere because he had a network of relatives all willing to swear blind that he was with them when it was necessary.

'What are you doing this for, Lenny? We fucking opened the door for you, we made this happen. You can't fucking do this…'

Lenny was smiling again. Ricky saw his brothers' faces; they were looking at him to rectify this situation, to make everything all right.

'I can do what I want, young Ricky. Thanks to you and your brothers I am the only sweet left in the shop. Now I have to make a show of my disgust. Show people that I can't let scum like you run riot and take the law into your own hands. I have to show my contempt for your actions and for Patrick's death, which, by the way, was a fucking liberty. I can't let people think they can do that to a fucking ganger and get away with it, can I?'

'I think the expression you are looking for is, to make an example.' Johnjo spoke with a quiet dignity that always put people off their guard on first encountering him. He was a huge man with thick black hair and a white-toothed smile that always caught ladies' eyes. But he had a quirk in his nature, he had no feelings for anyone outside his close-knit family circle. He would wound anyone for cash and it had made him a force in his own right. He never worried about any comebacks, there were too many Milligans about for that and they were all like him: loyal and easily insulted.

The Milligans were fighters, bare-knuckle and extreme. Johnjo had been an extreme champion since he was fifteen years old. He had fought all over the world and earned a fortune. Extreme fights meant the opponents could use anything they wanted to win the bout. From biting and scratching to using the stools they were supposed to sit on between rounds. Johnjo was a one-off and his talents had been useful over the years; he was called in when a point needed to be made. It wasn't only his violence, it was his penchant for torturing his victims that was required, and the exorbitant price he charged for these services was what made people widen their eyes with respect. If you used Johnjo Milligan you meant fucking business, and no one in their right mind wanted him towering over them with a pair of pliers or a soldering iron.

'Now, Mr Brewster, Mr Palmer is still on the oxygen; would you like to do the honours or shall I?'

Lenny nodded, as always impressed with Johnjo's understatement of the facts and his quiet way of talking that was totally out of place considering the circumstances around him.

Alan was moaning in pain but his open eyes told the men around him that he was more than aware of what was happening. Lenny walked over to the snooker table and picked up a cue. It took five good blows to Alan's head before everyone was satisfied he was dead.

Alan's body was dragged to the doorway by a couple of Lenny's blokes. Unlike the Williams brothers, he was just being outed. In fairness he was a name in his own right and so he just needed to stop existing. The story was already being relayed everywhere that he had financed the Williams brothers to do the dirty on Brodie for his own ends. Lenny would come out of all this as the person who had avenged Pat's death and honoured the man by taking out his murderers. He would be the hero of the hour and he would also get the fucking lot for himself. A win-win situation for him.

'Tie their hands and feet, but strip them first, please.' Johnjo spoke to no one in particular, but his henchmen rushed to do as he asked. It didn't take long; the brothers put up a good fight but there were too many opponents. On the floor, with the dirty carpet scratching their bare skin and the stench of cigarettes and lager in their nostrils, the fight finally left them. Ricky looked up at Lenny and his cronies; he had already got Alan Palmer's firm safely on board and with the Williams brothers' departure he would be hailed as the fucking Messiah.

'You cunt, you fucking treacherous slag. Do your fucking worst; you can't even do the honours yourself, you fucking coward.'

Ricky was screaming out at Brewster; he was determined to go out with at least some kind of dignity and he wouldn't beg for his life off this scum. He had taken a chance and it had not worked out, simple as that. He wasn't about to fucking cry over it. They were already dead men, all four brothers; it was just a matter of seeing how long it took for them to die.

Lenny Brewster kicked him in the face and shouted down to him, 'Shut the fuck up, you ponce. You slaughtered Brodie in front of his family. How the fuck could you believe that such a fucking outrageous act, such a fucking shameful display, would be tolerated by anyone, would be seen by anybody as fucking acceptable behaviour? You stepped over the line, mate, and you are going to pay the price for your obscene act. Anyone with a family wants you lot dead; anyone with a scrap of decency wouldn't fucking countenance you in their company, you fucking scum.'

Johnjo had taken his shirt off and his muscular body was a reminder to the brothers of his strength, and his calmness was a reminder of his reputation as a cold and ruthless torturer.

Johnjo signalled for Lenny to move away from the men on the floor.

'Get back now. You don't want to be too close to these fecking eejits when I start me shenanigans.'

Everyone in the room laughed but there was an undercurrent of excitement as well. None of the men present had seen the Milligans at work before, but they had heard the stories about them. They had wondered at the truth of them sometimes as they were so extreme; even making allowances for natural exaggerations and the need to make a story interesting, the rumours had been outrageous.

Johnjo looked at Ricky with disgust and he swallowed down a large brandy before saying softly and sadly, 'You never touch children, boy, never do anything in front of them; it's the eleventh commandment. The slaughter of Pat Brodie, a good friend of mine, by the way, in front of his kids will ensure I take a greater pleasure than usual in my work tonight.'

Then he doused them in brandy, soaking their hair and skin. The others all sat down to watch the performance and Ricky and his brothers cursed them all to hell.

Then Ricky saw Johnjo's cousin, Toby, lighting a blowtorch and he felt the tears roll from his eyes. Within minutes he was doing the one thing he had not wanted to do; he was begging not for his life but for his brothers' deaths. He begged for them to be put out of their pain. But he was forced to watch them die slowly, screaming in agony, before the Milligans turned their attentions to him.

A month after Patrick's funeral, Lenny Brewster sent a message to Lil saying that he wanted to see her. She knew she had no choice but to do as he asked of her.

'How are you coping, Lil?' His voice was calm and had the right inflection of sorrow and the expression on his face was one of genuine sympathy.

Lil shrugged elegantly and Lenny noticed the hollows in her neck and the way her breasts were straining against the material of the dress she wore. Her hair was freshly washed and styled and her make-up was flawless. As Lil crossed her legs he felt the heat rise up inside him.

'I need money, Lenny, simple as that.'

He knew then that she was on to him, that she knew how he was feeling and was willing to go along with it if necessary.

He had made a point of making sure certain rumours had reached her ears, and had seen to it that no one offered her any help; he had assured the general populace that he was taking care of everything. Lil was at her wits' end and he knew it and he would use it against her to get what he wanted.

'I need a job and I need it soon. I used to run the clubs for Patrick and I was good at it. He relied on me as I am sure you know.'

Lil watched the changing expressions on Lenny's face and hated him with every ounce of her being but he had made sure she had no one and nowhere to turn to. He was the only game on the street and she knew she had to do whatever he wanted.

'Why would I want you working for me?'

He was belittling her and she swallowed down the urge to walk out on him, to tell him what she thought of him. But the boys needed shoes, the girls needed clothes and the new baby needed everything. She needed to put food on the table and pay her bills. No one, it seemed, was willing to help her and she knew that was because this man had made sure she was left hanging. Even Spider had abandoned her. Lenny was a hero for what he had done to the Williams brothers, but she knew he had an agenda and she now knew that she was a big part of that.

So Lil smiled her best smile and shrugged gently once more. 'Because I am good at what I do and I would be an asset.'

Lenny stood up from behind his desk and walked towards her casually; he was well-dressed as always but he was running to fat now and he had a paunch that was clearly evident, even in his bespoke suit.

Leaning on the edge of the desk, Lenny stood in front of her chair and grinned. 'How far are you willing to go though? How much energy would you be willing to put in, I mean, if I were to give you a job?'

Lil gritted her teeth and took a deep breath before answering him. 'As much as was needed, of course.'

Lenny grinned then. He had her and he knew it.

Unzipping his trousers, he pulled out his cock and massaged it until it was erect; he looked at her stricken face and knew he had to have her no matter what, by force if necessary.

Lenny stared into her eyes and Lil saw the want there, and the need, and she knew this was an act of violence inasmuch as it was designed to bring her down, and to break her spirit. Through her, Lenny wanted to shame Patrick. He needed to dominate her because he had never had the guts to take on her husband himself.

She smiled then and he saw the whiteness of her teeth against the red slash of her lipstick. Then she was guiding him into her mouth and he couldn't believe the heat of her tongue as it snaked around him. He felt her pull on his skin as she sucked him into her mouth and then she was moving her head quickly back and forth. Immediately, he felt the release and the satisfaction of ejaculating into her mouth and the shock as she swallowed his semen. She slowed down the movement of her head, sucking him lightly now, and making his orgasm last longer, bringing him back to earth with a gentleness that only made it all the more exhilarating.

Lil had blown more than his cock and he was left breathless, leaning against his desk for support. His trousers were still unbuttoned and his flaccid member wet and cold in the cool of the February evening. Lenny opened his eyes and looked down at himself. His clothes were in disarray and his cock was hanging out like a wrinkled gherkin. Shame washed over him. He had bucked his hips like a teenager, ramming himself into her mouth with an urgency he had forgotten existed. As she smiled up at him he saw that her lipstick was smudged and her eyes were colder than a witch's tits.

'You just got yourself a job, Lil.'

'Have I?'

'You can start in the Baron's Room on Monday.'

Lenny was busy putting himself away and tidying up.

'Will I use the same office as I always did? Has anything changed?'

He turned to face her once more. His legs still felt weak and he could feel the contempt for him in her voice and he hated her for the effect she had on him.

'You won't need an office, Lil, not for what you'll be doing anyway.'

She knew then that she had lowered herself for nothing. She swallowed back the anger and the hot tears of humiliation. Instead, she stood up and said, with as much dignity as she could muster, 'Then you can stick your job up your arse.'

She took a gulp of her brandy and, swilling it around her mouth noisily, she spat the lot back into the glass.

As she picked up her coat and started to put it on he felt the pull of her once more.

'Come on, Lil, can't you take a joke?'

She stared into his face once more and he saw the deep grey of her eyes and the fine bone structure that made her look like a sculpture and gave her the edge when men looked her way.

'I haven't had a lot to joke about lately, have I, if you remember rightly.'

He was on her then and as he kissed her he could taste his own semen mixed with the brandy and the urgency inside was once more overtaking everything else. This time he took her properly. He took his time with her; laid her on the leather sofa in his office, undressed her and aroused her in every way he knew until eventually she opened her legs for him with the same urgency and excitement as he was feeling himself. As she moaned with enjoyment he knew that he would never feel like this again about any woman. She was wet and hot; she wanted him all right. As Lenny gazed down at her, Lil knew she had him. She didn't know for how long but she knew that she had crossed the line and used the only thing she had going for her. How long it would last, she didn't know, and what would happen when he finished with her was anyone's guess, but she had the job she wanted. She had also found out that she could perform the sex act with him and even fake enjoyment in it as long she pretended he was her Patrick. As long as she closed her eyes and pretended to herself that it was Patrick touching and kissing her. Lil had fooled Lenny as she would fool many men in the years to come.

That night, as Lil lay in her cold bed, she prayed that the kids would be all right and that their life wouldn't be too hard from now on. Then she finally let go of the tears she had been holding back for so long.

Lenny Brewster was settled in as the new and improved overseer of the Smoke. He had taken out all the wild cards, and brought Spider in as his ally; south London was somewhere he knew he would have trouble controlling.

Lil started working in the club she had once owned and sleeping with a man who now owned her. The irony was not lost on any of them.

The seventies was the decade that saw the explosion of recreational drug use, the second generation of West Indians were now making their mark and the country was recovering from another recession and yet another ineffectual government. It was the era of punk rock and dole queues. It was the time for the new generation to make their mark and show their disdain for the shambles they had inherited from their parents.

Lenny Brewster and his ilk milked this for all it was worth. They made fortunes on the generation growing up and on the relaxing of most people's moral codes. It was boom-time in the criminal fraternities and everyone was happy with their lot.

For Lil Brodie and for her children, it heralded the end of her life as she knew it. The death of Patrick Brodie would shape his children's lives and not in the way he would have wanted.