Faces (20 page)

All that was left now was seeing how their latest escapade would pan out. It was a melon scratcher; they had taken a chance, a fucking big one, and now they had to wait and see how it played out.

Michael, like Danny Boy, had a feeling they would either be trounced when they least expected it, or they would finally get the approbation Danny so desperately craved. Either way, they would know before the day was over.

 

Mary Miles was fifteen and she already attracted attention wherever she went. It was the wrong attention and she knew that because, somehow, her mother made her feel guilty about it. She acted as if Mary could personally stop it at any time, if she
really
wanted to. Men looked at her, young and old, and she felt their interest in her as if it was a tangible thing. Even though she did nothing to encourage them.

By the time Mary was twelve, she had developed a huge bust, almost overnight; it was the envy of all her school friends. But her mother made her feel as if it was just another thing she had done to disappoint her. The lovelier she became, the more she felt responsible for her mother’s obvious upset, and the less she felt any kind of self-respect. She thought her body was grotesque, and she listened to her mother’s warnings about how she would end up going to the bad with serious disbelief. While drunk and vicious her mother destroyed her at every available opportunity. She had became a by-word where they lived; her capacity for alcohol was legendary, but she was still cute enough to make sure her daughter never got the chance to wander the streets with her mates. Michael, who Mary adored, was a worse jailer than her mother in many respects, but at least he had her best interests at heart.

As she knelt in the church she could feel the eyes of her mother boring into her back. She was praying hard, as usual, and she was praying for the same thing she always prayed for: freedom. Not just from her mother, but from the environment she lived in. Freedom from the drink, the squalor, and the constant vigilance needed to survive in their world. Mary hated the way she was coerced into doing what was expected of her, yet she knew she allowed it to happen because it was easier that way. Her mother had a knack of making her feel a despondency that would have taken other girls, so-called more experienced girls, years to comprehend. Mary knew why men looked at her, she even enjoyed the feeling it created sometimes, after all it was the only real power she had in her life. Plus, it annoyed her mother, which was a bonus as far as she was concerned.

Mary looked like her mother. Beauties, both of them, but whereas Mary wanted the chance to embrace hers and enjoy it, her mother was determined to make sure she didn’t go the same way as she had. Determined to make sure she didn’t waste it on someone who would never see beyond it. Religion had been her solace, and she had embraced it with a fervour that had aggravated her parish priest and given her a certain cachet in her circle of friends. No matter how pissed she was, she always went to early Mass; it was how she justified her behaviour. No matter what she was accused of, and as she remembered little of her drunken escapades, accuse was a word she knew was used often, she attended mass religiously. The pun always made her laugh, but the hypocrisy of her life was lost on her.

She was going to watch this one like a hawk though, and personally make sure that she didn’t throw herself away on a useless ponce at the first available opportunity. If she used her loaf Mary could make a good match for herself, but only if she was watched over closely and counselled wisely. The sap was already rising in her; men were already interested, and she them, and Mrs Miles was determined to personally make sure that her daughter went to someone who could give her more than children and heartbreak. Someone who would look after her and who would bring her, not just a few quid, but respect on her family. She wanted her to realise that once the so-called love wore off there was nothing left for most women except existing. Once the looks went and the body grew fat and sagged, there was nothing left for them except trying to get by; only, by then, you had a handful of kids hanging on your breasts and suddenly existing was all you could focus on for any length of time.

She should know, she had been existing for years and now she depended on her son for her daily bread. Michael was a good boy, but without Cadogan he would have sunk without trace a long time ago. Like his father before him, he lacked balls and, if he fucked up, then this girl, this beautiful child, was going to be her golden goose. With Michael making a name for himself she should make a good match; she would be honoured because of her brother. Without him she was fodder for the first good-looking boy with nice teeth and a way with words.

Love and lust, two completely different things, only you didn’t realise that until you grew up and had a few kids under your belt. By then, of course, it was too late to rectify your mistakes; you were saddled with a man who you had not only lost respect for, but who you still needed, albeit for all the wrong reasons. Money, being the main one; fear of poverty and making the rent was suddenly the driving force in your life. Well, that was not going to happen to her Mary if she had anything to do with it. She was keeping her in reserve, and daily Mass was part of her master plan. Well-stacked and virginal, she was already making waves and, though Mary wouldn’t thank her just yet, she would one day in the future. After all, life was hard enough as it was without throwing herself away on someone who would only let her down.

As the Mass commenced she lowered her head and prayed for the guidance she so sorely needed. God was good, and so was her daughter, and she was going to make sure she stayed that way. Her life was not going to be repeated by this girl of hers; she was going to have all the things a good man could provide, and she was going to make sure that she also benefited from her daughter’s good fortune. She had earned that much, whatever anyone else might think.

 

Ange had dressed the kids in their finery and taken them to the cinema; her son had asked her politely to take them out for the day. It was a rare treat for them, even though she was never short of money any more. In fact, she had found that she didn’t really want to take them anywhere now she finally had the wherewithal to do so. Promising them things had been one thing, doing them another.

That her son made sure they were all right for money suited her right down to the ground, that her husband was constantly vilified and abused in his own home distressed her. But she had swallowed because the thought of going back to the old days terrified her, yet now the rumour was that Danny Boy had blotted his copybook with Mangan, so once more her thoughts turned to revenge.

Danny was a force, a serious force, and she was ashamed to admit that she was frightened of her own flesh and blood. But, if she was honest, even she didn’t know what he was truly capable of. That he was now a name and that that name had given her the prestige she had always craved was forgotten. It was amazing how easy it was to forget what her husband had really been like in his heyday. How simple it was to totally rewrite history in her own mind and make him out to be a saint, convince herself he was nothing more than a misguided man who was widely misunderstood. Since his run-in with his son, he had become the husband she had wanted him to be. He was no good to anyone really, not any more. Not in the true sense of the word anyway. In fact, he was incapable of anything even resembling lovemaking, and she told herself she was glad about that. He said he was impotent, but she knew that was because he didn’t want her any more. Not since she had miscarried the last child, and Danny Boy had made his feelings clear about the situation. Since then their physical relationship had gradually dwindled until, now, there was nothing between them. She consoled herself with the fact that there was nothing going on with anyone else, either. Not only was her husband crippled, his fear of Danny made him keep himself to himself. And who would want him, anyway? Now they talked, had the relationship she had dreamed of all those years, and it wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. His philandering had often been the cause of the fights between them, fights where she had never been the victor, but where the making up had been impressive. Now she wanted that back again, only it wasn’t going to happen, and she was left with a son who tolerated his father and, if she was honest, frightened his own mother. He had changed so much, and not for the better.

As she looked at her younger children she wondered at a life that had promised so much and delivered so little.

 

Michael Miles was tired out, and as he sat in Ange’s spotlessly clean kitchen he yawned loudly. Danny Boy was already on the way. He was striding around, his pent-up anger visible to anyone who knew him. He was bristling with annoyance because he knew that Mangan was going to give him a tug. He saw it as a personal affront, and was already seething with anger because he was convinced people would know what was going down. You could do a lot of things to Danny Boy Cadogan but showing him up publicly was a definite no-no. It was the one thing that anyone who really knew him would be sure to avoid.

But Mangan didn’t really know him, so Michael was certain that today was going to be another memory that he would have to file away for future reference. Danny was a star in so many respects, he was a good mate, a generous friend and he would kill for him, he was sure of that much. Unfortunately, he had found out to his dismay over the last few years that Danny was capable of killing on a whim. He enjoyed his notoriety, and was determined to make the most of it. He was also unable to cope with criticism of any kind, even from someone like Lawrence Mangan, who not only provided him with his daily bread, but was also known to put the fear of Christ up most people of his acquaintance.

‘Keeping you up, am I?’

Michael grinned, but his heart wasn’t in it. ‘ ’Course not, but I am fucking cream crackered.’

Danny Boy nodded, and began his pacing again. His tread was heavy on the linoleum and his hands were clenched into fists. He was ready for whatever calamity might befall him.

‘Relax, will you? Mangan ain’t a cunt, Dan, he’ll understand the economics of the situation when we tell him what happened. But promise me you won’t cause any unnecessary aggravation, start shouting your mouth off? Remember, we need him more than he needs us. For the time being anyway.’

Only Michael could say that to him, and they both knew it. Anyone else saying it would have been demolished on the spot. It was part of Danny’s charm as far as the older men were concerned. He lived by the old codes, naturally, and that was always going to stand him in good stead. He had the arrogance of the old-time villains, the need to be appreciated for what they were, and the determination to be treated how they felt they should be treated, not only by the general public, but also by their contemporaries. He was, in a lot of respects, a thug who expected even straight people to live by the criminal code. It was a tribal thing that Michael believed went back to the Dark Ages. Respect was all some people had and it was important to them, more important in fact than anything else. It stroked their egos, and their egos were, more often than not, all they had to keep them above the common herd.

‘I’ll be OK, as long as he don’t fuck me about. But we are entitled to an earn and he knows that, at least he should know that by now.’ It was said with his usual certainty. Danny was old school and, as it never occurred to him that not everyone lived by the same code as he did, when he found out different, it always disappointed him and caused him and everyone around him untold grief.

Michael was saved from answering by the quiet knocking on the front door. Mangan had arrived at last and he answered the door with a sick feeling in his guts. Danny was capable of taking offence at a moment’s notice, and Mangan was of a similar disposition. Michael’s nerves were shattered already, but he swallowed deeply and plastered a friendly smile on his face; it was the least he could do.

Lawrence Mangan looked at the two young men who he knew were going to be a problem to him sooner rather than later if they didn’t get what they saw as their due. He smiled that easy smile of his. He could feel Danny Cadogan’s animosity and, in a strange way, admired the boy for his front. Admired him for his complete belief in himself and his actions, no matter how over the top they might seem to others.

Danny was arrogant and Lawrence knew that he was being talked about by everyone who mattered. That was actually Danny’s main weapon at this moment in time. He was being courted by more than one Face who saw the opportunity to utilise his natural antagonism. The boy also knew exactly what he was capable of, and he revelled in that knowledge. It was in his stance, his demeanour. It occurred to Lawrence that Louie’s prediction was spot on; the boy would eventually make the grade and, when he did, woe betide anyone who had tried to stand in his way. He would have to make sure he felt more appreciated in the future, let him off lightly for this latest escapade. Watch his back and, when the time was right, he would know instinctively what to do about him. The boy was an anomaly and he would make good use of him until such time as he made a decision on how to proceed.

He had underestimated this kid and, as he stood in the boy’s home, he understood why his need to be noticed was so great. It was a shithole, a very clean shithole admittedly, but a shithole all the same. Danny Boy Cadogan had seen off his own father, so anyone else wouldn’t seem too much of a problem in his mind. He wanted to be a Face, a serious Face, and he was determined to make that happen, no matter who he had to destroy to achieve that end.

The silence was heavy, thick with menace until finally it was broken by Michael, who said quietly and respectfully, ‘Can I get you a drink, Mr Mangan?’

It broke the atmosphere, and the tension evaporated as Lawrence smiled again and nodded his head in agreement. Then he said jovially, ‘You lairy little fuckers! Jimmy Powell is in a right two and eight.’