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Chapter Six

Kathleen and Eileen were toddling around the room and Pat was laughing at their antics. They were his heart and everyone, including the boys, accepted that fact. The girls, as they were always referred to, were gorgeous; blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauties who had never in their life been subject to anything except love and spoiling. At three, they were a mirror image of each other. They were also bright; early talkers, early walkers and they were already ruined by their parents and brothers.

Patrick watched his wife as she wiped noses, tidied up the house and cooked the dinner. Lil was a strong girl and she was still the only woman for him. As his daughters held out their arms to her and she reached down to hug them, he smiled at the picture they created and felt a lump in his throat.

She was a beautiful woman and four children had not diminished her allure in his eyes. If anything it had made her more attractive to him. But with the birth of the twins she had been forced to give up working with him, and even though she loved being a mother to them all, he knew she missed the excitement of being a part of his working life. She glanced at him and smiled sadly; she could see through him as if he was a pane of glass and they both knew it.

Guilt ate away at him. He had been on the missing list for two days when the girls were born, and the fact that his wife, his Lil, had not even mentioned it, spoke volumes. She had stopped asking him questions a long time ago, didn't want to know where he had been, she no longer cared. All she seemed interested in was money, she was obsessed with money. She demanded it as her right and how could he deny her? Four kids cost money, a lot of money, but sometimes he felt that was all he was to her, a meal ticket, a pay packet, even though he knew that was unfair.

He was turning into his father and he hated himself for that. But the clubs called to him, he got a few drinks inside him, started mug-bunnying and, before he knew it, the night was over and the morning was there. The girl he had spent the day and night with wasn't fit to clean Lil's shoes, yet he had not cared about that. She had been young, available and fresh-looking. She had also been as thick as shit and up for anything. He had fucked her rigid in the back of his car and he couldn't even remember her name. She had been in possession of a pair of firm tits and a nice smile and that had been criteria enough for what he had wanted at that particular moment in time. He had used her, as he always used the girls who hung around him, and who made him more grateful than ever that he had his Lil waiting for him at home. As soon as it was over and the drink wore off, he wanted shot of them and he was disgusted with himself, swearing it would be the last time.

However, it was becoming a frequent occurrence, even though it meant nothing. He stayed out even when there was no actual work involved, nothing to do, no reason not to go home to his family, and he felt a right ponce. He was taking the piss out of Lily and he knew it. More to the point, she knew it. If Lil had been out all night on the gatter he would have caused a fucking riot. If anyone even looked at her sideways, he felt a jealousy that was capable of causing him to murder. As she always pointed out, you judged people by your own standards. Because he was capable of taking a flier, he assumed she was, even though he knew she was better than that. The worst thing was that she had a natural, built-in shit-detector that told her when he was pulling a fast one.

Patrick was the king of the hill now, he had made himself a rep that was so solid, so concrete, that no one in their right mind would challenge him. In a strange way, this disappointed him. Patrick knew that to keep on top you had to put on a show of strength on a regular basis, not only to warn off any pretenders, but to keep your workforce in line. He had a lot of people working for him now, and a few of them were capable of being contenders if he was fool enough to give them too much leeway.

Even Dave and the other Williams brothers were pushing their luck lately, and it was getting to the stage where a straightener might very well be on the cards.

Spider and his cronies were still on his payroll, but as the Williamses and the blacks had never really mixed, it was causing aggravation. The Williamses resented the money that was going their way, not understanding that Spider was a good mate and that he earned fortunes off the blues, the grass and the firearms that he had a knack of sniffing out. Times were changing and the Jamaicans were the future for them. If Dave could only get his thick head around that fact, they would all have been the better for it. They had been offered a chance and they had knocked it back long ago. Now the money was rolling in and resentments were surfacing because of that.

Spider worked the front line and ran the whole shebang, from blues to birds. Blues were parties that went on for days; a derelict property was located, boarded up, cleared of debris, then a sound system would be installed and a bar erected. The party could go on for days and the money collected off the door and the bar was astronomical. The puff sales were always good and the police kept well away. All in all, it was a good earner and Spider had it sewn up. No one could have a blues, sell a bit of puff or pimp a woman without Spider's express say-so. That meant of course, without his say-so. Spider didn't care about that, he and Patrick had gone into it as a team, but it seemed that suddenly Dave and his brothers did mind. They had no foothold in south London and resented the money that Patrick was creaming off, but they had originally been offered an in and refused it. They had not seen Brixton and its potential, they had not weighed out for any of the original deals and they were going to have to swallow the fact they had made a big fuck up. There was no way at this late stage that anyone was going to cut the profits three ways just to keep the peace.

Spider was shifting Dexedrine at fifty quid a thousand and the kids wanted them. Amphetamine was the new drug of choice, whether in pill form or powder, and it was making shit-loads of money for them. Spider ran the business with military precision and he was adamant that south London was his and Pat had to stand by him on that.

Pat looked around the house he had recently purchased and a sense of pride washed over him once more; no one in his family had ever bought their home before. It was a strange feeling, owning something so significant. It was a commitment, it was the roof over his family's head. It was an asset as well, he was aware of that. He had bought it cash, that had been another of Lil's demands. Until now he had not thought of putting money into anything tangible, had steered clear of anything that could be investigated by the tax or the police. But Lily had pointed out that the turnover from his legit businesses was more than ample for a purchase of this size and as usual she had been right.

The house was in her name and she held the deeds to it. It was the least he could do. He owned other houses, but they were business properties and they were in his name; he could walk away from them at any time. This place felt solid though, it was his home; his family's home. He liked the feeling of belonging somewhere, of having a base. And he loved the fact that his Lil was happy here, that she felt safe knowing it was hers no matter what.

His boys started fighting, they were watching Tom and Jerry on TV and arguing over who should be the cat and who the mouse. His daughters went over to them and, as always, Kathy sat with Pat Junior and Eileen sat with Lance. The girls' presence stopped the fighting in its tracks and he was proud of his boys and their gentle way with their sisters.

He was shattered and as he sat back on the sofa and relaxed, Lil brought him in a cup of strong, sweet tea. He pulled her down beside him, kissing her hard, slipping his tongue into her mouth and he felt her responding as she always did. She could never be angry with him for long. As angry as she got, she needed him like other women needed to eat and drink. Without him, she was nothing. Without him, her life was empty, even with four children to occupy her time. She hated herself for it, but she accepted it as part of her life.

The awkwardness between them was over once more, until the next time. But the accusation was still behind her eyes, as was the tired acceptance of his lifestyle and the effect it had on her and their family.

He was a man and, in their world, that meant he could do what he wanted. She didn't like it, but she dealt with it. It was this he found so hard to cope with. She was worth better than that and they both knew it.

Spider was drinking white rum and smoking a twist; the scent of cannabis was heavy on the air. His girlfriend, a young Jamaican woman with braided hair and almond-shaped eyes, was nursing her baby son while listening to Peter Tosh on the sound system.

Spider watched Rochelle lazily, his thick dreadlocked hair hanging over his face, his eyes closing with tiredness. Like Patrick, he had been out on the lam for a few days; unlike Patrick, his girlfriend had eaten his face off when he had come home. Finally, and with much persuasion on his part, she had calmed down enough to nurse their baby. He knew he was going to have to do some serious grovelling over the next few days to get her back onside. She was a good girl and he loved her; she was fiery, too young for him really, but she had heart and he respected that.

There was a knock on his front door and Spider had to shake himself awake to answer it. He was seriously stoned and he opened the front door with difficulty. The house was like a fortress and he took his time unbolting the front door. He knew who was behind it and he was smiling genially when he finally slid the last lock.

'Fucking hell, man, this place is like Fort Knox.' Spider's younger brother, Cain, was standing there, grinning.

Cain was the antithesis of Spider in that he had short, cropped hair and he favoured tailored trousers and understated shirts. Spider was a larger-than-life character and his apparel reflected that. He was wearing baggy tracksuit bottoms and a pure-cotton embroidered overshirt that looked tight on his heavy frame. With his dreads and his moccasins, he looked every inch the Rasta dealer. Cain was an up-and-coming young blood; at twenty-one he had the nerve and the nous to make his mark on his community. He had an easy way about him that belied the strength and single-mindedness that was only evident to the people who knew him. Spider was twelve years older than him and proud of the young man he was grooming for the future and for his eventual retirement.

'You got my money?'

Cain laughed, his white, even teeth glinting in the sunlight. 'Shut the fucking door. You the one who told me never to talk business in the street or me own backyard!'

As he locked up once more, Spider could hear his brother chatting about his nephew's good looks and flirting with Rochelle. The boy was a natural-born womaniser and, listening to him talking and joking with his Rochelle, he felt the love that many men reserved for their children. He loved his life. It was times like this that made him realise just how lucky he was.

'They are coining it in and walking all over us, Dave, and we are being fucking mugged-off.'

Dave Williams sighed as he listened once more to his brother Dennis's usual litany of perceived wrongs. Since Dicky had been murdered he had taken on the mantle of the older brother and it was hard. Dicky had been the main man; he had always known what to do and how to do it. Dave tried and Patrick gave him his due, but he was always worried that he would get it wrong. Dicky's death had left a hole that Dave knew he wasn't able to fill, and he had the distinct impression his brothers felt the same way as he did. They were grown men now, and he knew they were itching to get a few quid off their own backs. He was now the eldest and they respected him, but they were not boys any more. They were a handful, and he knew that better than anyone.

'Relax, for fuck's sake! You're like an old woman.'

'Fucking relax? You have the audacity to tell me to relax?'

Dennis had his usual petulant look; he had a temper and it was not easily kept under control. He had always kicked off at the slightest tiling; he saw insults where none were forthcoming and he heard conversations that had never taken place. He was a lairy fucker and he was getting harder and harder to control.

'No one can get a fucking foot on the front line and that is what's giving me the fucking hump. Spider and his brother have sewn it all up.'

Dave sipped his coffee in silence and waited for the rant to continue as he knew it would. This had been a daily occurrence since Dennis had tried to shift some speed in south London; he had sold enough for a small profit, but he had not sold enough for his liking. He had also been warned off; in a nice way, with respect, but to be warned off was something that had never happened to any of them in living memory. They were the ones who did the warning and they were not about to step back and watch others get a serious graft without them even having a touch. It had caused a lot of upset and a lot of bad feeling towards Patrick Brodie, who was being seen more and more as a traitor by his own workforce.

Dennis was stalking round the room. His broad shoulders were stiff with the anger he was feeling and his moonface was screwed up with hatred and humiliation.

'To add insult to fucking injury, Dave, that black cunt and his cohorts are dealing all over the show. They are in every nook and cranny; the pavement stinks of them, so where does that leave us? Fucking Brodie is all right, ain't he? He is in league with them, he fucking owns them. He is raking it in, but what about us, Dave? I was told to fuck off last night, as if I was a fucking ice-cream, a cunt. I was told that Ilford and Barking were no-go areas because that lot were already dealing out of Celebrities nightclub in Forest Gate.' Dennis shook his head in bewilderment.

'We have nowhere to peddle anything. They've sewn up the Lacy Lady, Room at the Top and the fucking Tavern. Lautrec's is already part of their domain and Southend is sewn up tighter than a nun's crack. It's everywhere we go; Raquel's in Basildon, the fucking Roxy, the Vortex, Dingwall's in Camden. There is not a pub or a club left that we can call our own, from the Old Rose to the Dean Swift, and that even includes The Green Man, my watering-hole. They have Callie Road, the fucking main pubs, the fucking docks and all the poxy local boozers. They are like fucking leeches taking the food out of my kid's mouth.' He spat into the fireplace for maximum effect.

'We have got fuck all left, their boys are even selling speed in the fucking Beehive on Brixton Road and they are, by nature, puffers. The West End and Islington are overrun with that smooth-talking ponce's fucking minions and I ain't swallowing no more. We either have a touch or we take it over once and for all.'

'Will you fucking calm down?'

'Calm down? You want me to calm down? Who are you, the fucking yoga king of East London? Up yours, Dave. I want this fucking sorted, and I want it sorted soon. Spider and his brother are riding around in fucking flash cars with all sorts of fucking weapons. They are kinging it up like they own the fucking show and we are expected to just fucking tug our forelocks and not say a word? We can't even shift anything in Manchester, Liverpool or fucking Scotland. We have been frozen out, fucked off like recalcitrant school boys and all you can say is calm down? Are you stuck up Brodie's arse or what?'

Dave didn't answer, it was pointless, but he was digesting the information. He knew that he was going to have to sort this out sooner rather than later, because his brothers were on his case now. Drugs, speed in particular, was big business and they had invested a lot of money into it. The problem was that Pat was not only a good mate but he was also their biggest rival and, short of selling to him personally at a loss, they were in right lumber. Pat wasn't going to pay over the odds for the gear and who could blame him?

But he was out of order to assume that they wouldn't want a bite of what was a fucking lucrative business. Just because they had not bothered with it in the beginning did not mean they were going to walk away from an earner now the product was in such high demand. If Spider had stuck to his own turf, none of this would have happened. Everyone could have had a bite, and everyone would have been happy.

Dave chose to ignore the fact that Pat Brodie was running the show and that anything outside south London was his domain. He conveniently forgot that Pat had offered them an in many times and they had been too busy chasing the dollar in other areas. He also chose to disregard the warnings that Pat had given him in a very gentle but firm way; they were free to pursue their dealings as long as it didn't encroach on any existing businesses he had already put in place. Basically, he had insinuated that they had missed the boat and it was too late now to start complaining about it.

But, as Dennis had pointed out, if they were dealing out of all the nightclubs and they had a monopoly, then a talk was definitely in order. He was aware that most of the little firms could only deal because they had Pat's permission to do so and that they were only answerable to Spider, who was universally acknowledged as Pat's front man where the Persian Rugs were concerned. This, of course, was the bugbear where his brothers were concerned.

They were feeling left out, feeling that they were being overlooked, insulted even. The boys were men and, like all up-and-coming youngsters, they were ripe for an excuse to flex their muscles, to make their mark. They were greedy little fuckers, and they were dangerous because of that. The only reason they had been given such a ride over the last couple of years was because of Patrick Brodie, but they were not intelligent enough to suss that out and he was not about to mention that fact just yet. Dennis was their spokesman, the only one with the guts to come into his home and air his grievances. The others would follow, he knew, but only when they were assured they would have a friendly reception.

They were conveniently forgetting all the graft they had because of Pat, all the money they were raking in with him on other businesses. The speed was making them greedy; the money to be earned was astronomical and naturally they wanted in on it. The groundwork had been done, as it had always been done for them, though they couldn't see that of course. They were heavies, no more and no less, and their egos were bigger than King Kong's cock, but they were adamant they were not going to take 'no' for an answer.

Dave was starting to see his brother's point of view; that they were being treated like second-class citizens and that they would be better off without Brodie.

He was honest enough, at times, to admit to himself that Pat had overtaken him; he saw an opportunity and he went for it, taking Dave and his brothers along with him. It irked Dave at times because he not only wanted to have the respect Brodie commanded; he also wanted to be seen as a vital link in the criminal chain that ruled London.

The fact that people were relaxed enough to tell his brothers that they were not going to deal with them, thank you very much, because they were already being served up by Spider, was another reminder that they were, and always would be, only foot soldiers to Brodie. This was a melon-scratcher all right, and he needed to think about it long and hard before he did anything of any substance. Once something like this was put into words and thereby into the public domain, there was no going back. He needed to seriously consider their options and the best way to approach the problem in hand.

'Let me think about it, all right?'

Dennis nodded imperceptibly. He was halfway home and he knew it; he had given his brother the bullets, now it was up to him to fire them.

Annie was putting the children to bed and, as usual, Lance was playing her up. She pulled him on to her lap and whispered in his ear as she always did. 'Once the others drop off, come out to your nana, darling.'

This was despite the fact that Pat had made a point of telling her that the children were to go to bed at the same time, and if he did find out that she had been favouring Lance, she was out for good. She and Pat had an uneasy alliance in that she made sure she didn't antagonise him and he made sure she spent as little time with the kids as possible.

'I don't want to sit with you, Nana.'

Lance's petulant face was beginning to irritate her and she took a deep breath before saying quietly, 'I have a few sweeties for you, and you can watch TV? Her voice was soft and the other children watched the little tableau with interest.

'Come on, darling. Nana has missed you, give me a hug?' The yearning was in her voice and the child picked up on it, knew he had the upper hand, and used it to his advantage.

'No, Nana. I'm tired.' Lance pulled away from her, his thickset body almost knocking her off the chair with its strength. He hated the feel of her rough hands on him, the way she pulled him about, kissed him all the time and squeezed him into her body, nearly suffocating him. But he loved the power he had over her, and because of that, he had power over his brother and sisters. His nana adored him and tolerated them, they all knew that. Because it had always been like that none of them questioned it; they were just glad she didn't feel the same way about them.

It was the first time in ages that Annie had babysat. Pat made sure she spent as little time as possible with the kids and she knew she was on borrowed time. Lil was not enamoured of her any more either, so she had to sit it out and wait until they were desperate before she got access to the one thing that made her life bearable.

'Kiss your poor old nana and we'll play games; whatever you like.'

Lance shook his head and said loudly and with force, 'I don't want to, Nana. I don't like you any more.'

The hurt in her faded eyes made him feel a moment's sadness, but she made him feel uncomfortable and he had realised, as young as he was, that her feelings for him were not healthy. His mother had no real time for him; he knew that she didn't love him like she did the others. But his nana, who worshipped him, just made him want to hurt her. She smelt awful and she made him feel like he was being suffocated.

The smack was loud in the room and all four children jumped with fright. Lance had a red mark on his face and he stared at Annie with defiance and hatred as she started to berate him.

Pat Junior pushed his sisters from the untidy living room and walked back towards his brother. He grabbed his arm and started to pull him from the room, all the time Annie's screaming and swearing was ringing in their ears.

'You two-faced little fucker, all I've done for you…'

It was the usual litany of complaints and both boys closed their ears to it.

Lance watched helplessly as Pat Junior was dragged back into the middle of the room by his hair. All his power was gone now, and he knew it. His nana was off on one of her rants and no one could calm her down. He ran from the room and went up the stairs to his sisters, settling them into their beds and listening to the commotion below him.

Pat Junior felt her nails in his scalp and, turning towards his grandmother, he landed a hefty kick on to her shins, making her let go of him, and also making her curse louder than ever. He was eight years old and he pushed her forcefully and shouted, 'I am telling my dad about you.'

Annie knew she had gone too far and forced herself to calm down.

She looked at the boy in front of her and, smiling tremulously, she did what she always did. With eyes full of tears and a broken voice she said sadly, 'I am so sorry, child, but I miss you all so much, and you are all so horrible to me…'

Pat Junior stood there without any expression on his face and after a few seconds he said with quiet dignity, 'We are never rude to anyone. My sisters need a drink of hot milk and a story and I am telling my mum that we don't want you looking after us any more.'

Annie was in bits at his words. If the kids mentioned what had happened she would be relegated to the wilderness once more and she needed to be around Lance like other people needed water or food.

As Annie tidied the room, she felt the jealousy that ate at her like a cancer once more. The house was large, beautifully decorated and peopled by a family who loved and cared for one another; Patrick and Lance had proved that much this night. Her daughter and her lifestyle was like a thorn in her side. She produced children with ease and kept a man in her bed without even trying. She was everything that Annie Diamond had wanted to be and more. People actually liked Lil, she still had her friends from the factory and she attracted new friends. She was a naturally happy person and, other than Pat's sojourns every now and then, she loved her life. It was all this that made Annie resent her only daughter so much: that her child could have made something of her life without even trying, galled. That she was dependent on her daughter for the very bread she ate was something she would never be able to forgive, even though she had been living off her only child since the day she had started work. Sighing heavily, she made the hot milk Pat Junior had requested for his sisters. Then she placed biscuits and cake on to a tray and went up to her grandchildren to attempt to repair the damage she had caused earlier.

She smiled when she saw the twins asleep in their brothers' arms, even though the urge to batter Lance was so overwhelming that she had to breathe in deeply to calm herself down. But instinctively she knew it was Patrick Junior who was the dangerous one, the one who she needed on her side, so she concentrated her efforts on him.

Like his father, you couldn't fathom what was going on behind his deep-set blue eyes. And like his father, she knew he was going to become one dangerous fucker in the future; he had the same arrogance, the same blank stare and, uncannily, the same presence that had made his father a man to be wary of. He was still only a lad, but the coldness in his expression was enough to make anyone uneasy if they found it directed at them.

Cain was smiling as Dennis Williams bought him another drink.

They were in the Burford Arms in east London; it was a predominantly black pub, but Dennis was a frequent, if not exactly welcome, visitor. He had a few of the boys around Stratford on his payroll and he paid them out there. Cain was often in there having a drink while he sorted out business and the two men had always had a good rapport until recently. Cain could not say exactly when the dynamics of the relationship between them had changed, but he knew it had now gone too far to attempt any kind of reconciliation. He knew it was over the drugs and he was not about to climb down or give this fucker an inch. This was personal now; it was about territory and making sure no one took what was rightfully yours.

He was secure enough while Dennis was alone, the brothers did give him pause for thought though. But he was relaxed enough knowing that Brodie was behind them. He reasoned that the Williamses had enough going on without pulling Brodie and his businesses into the limelight with public aggravation. Cain had a crew that stayed close and watched over him at all times. The Williamses were not people to take lightly or to overlook; they were dangerous fucks and he knew that he needed to watch his back. He was sorry though, because he had always rated Dave and his family. It was a shame that it was going wrong now, but that was the times they were living in.

Cain knew that Dennis and his younger brothers, Bernie and Tommy, had attempted to muscle in on his operation but he was wise enough to keep that gem of wisdom to himself; once they showed their hand, he would show his. He always had a contingency plan; Brodie had taught him that much.