The Good Life (10 page)

Sometimes when he came home and saw Caroline leafing through catalogues, looking for another expensive must-have, he felt the urge to brain her. He went along with it because it not only kept the peace, but also because it was easier to give in and avoid the drama.

Caroline judged his love for her by what he spent on her; Jenny just loved him. There was a big difference.

Caroline would take it hard if he left. More than anything she craved the prestige of being married to him and a divorce would turn into a knock-down, drag-out fight.

He slowed his car, amazed at the thoughts he was having of the consequences of divorce. He shook himself mentally, admonishing himself that he had a young son he adored, and who adored him. He had a good life with his wife and child, even if it was often fraught with contention; that was part and parcel of his Caroline.

Still, it had thrown him that he had even considered the possibility. Caroline would cut his nuts off and send them to him first class through the post if she knew what he was thinking. One thing was certain: Caroline Moran was not a woman who would easily be scorned.

Johnny Mac had brought together a small crew of trusted workers. They were young, large, strong and close-mouthed − exactly what was needed for this little episode.

They had picked up Micky Two Fags and Richie Jakobs earlier in the day and stashed them at a warehouse in Essex. Elvis Munro and Denny Gunn were off the hook, and secretly Johnny was pleased about that as he liked them both. The only one left was Jimmy Boy Banks and that fucker would be difficult to snatch. Luckily Jimmy Boy’s brother-in-law, a certain Hank Barber, hated the man. He had treated his sister like shit for years and was a bullying father and husband. Hank Barber had sold Jimmy up the river without a second’s thought.

Johnny parked the car outside Jimmy Boy’s girlfriend’s house. Typical Jimmy Boy − he had a little unmarried mother on the side with big tits and the brain capacity of an ant. Some men never changed.

From what he could gather, Jimmy usually went into her place at seven in the evening and came out just after nine, no doubt after relieving his manly itch while her kids were in bed. It made sense when you thought about it. Some young girl grateful for a few pounds now and then, all the time unaware that she was nothing to him except an easy lay with a grateful demeanour.

When Jimmy exited the small house, they were waiting for him. As he approached his car, they surrounded him, subdued him and bundled him into the boot of Johnny Mac’s car. The three main players were now out of the game.

Johnny Mac congratulated the boys on a job well done and they made their way to Essex, aware that the traffic from Stratford would be heavy at this time, but secure in the knowledge that Jimmy Boy’s cries of rage would go unheard in the general noise of the A13.

It was a good day’s work all round.

Richie Jakobs and Micky Two Fags were aware that their number was up. Both men were terrified − they had backed the wrong horse this time. They were tied up in a warehouse that was full of oil drums and the stench was making their eyes water. They knew that before long they would be joined by Jimmy Boy and their fates would be sealed.

It was dark out now and they were getting more and more fearful as the hours passed.

Thirsty, hungry and frightened, they were almost glad to hear a car draw up outside. Neither of them was expecting to be saved, but there was always a chance of talking their way out of this difficult situation.

Cain Moran walked into the large warehouse with a carrier bag and, looking at the two men trussed up like chickens, he saluted them in a friendly way. He looked immaculate as always, even dressed casually in 501 jeans and a Fred Perry T-shirt, he looked every inch the burgeoning businessman. He opened the carrier bag and took out a bottle of Scotch, a pack of paper cups and then he removed a large pair of pliers and some bolt cutters.

The men’s eyes widened at his antics, and he smiled at them amiably. ‘You didn’t think you were going to get off scot-free, did you, lads?’ He grinned, enjoying their discomfort. ‘Your mate Jimmy Boy, the other murdering bastard, will be here in a minute. Got myself a hat trick, ain’t I? Feel like Geoff Hurst.’ He poured himself a large Scotch and drank it down in one. ‘What a day for England that was, eh? Fucked the Germans again.’ He laughed at his own wit.

He could see the men eyeing the bottle greedily and, pouring himself another large drink, he saluted them again. ‘To a happy death!’

A few minutes later they heard another car pull up, and they knew their time was up.

Cain laughed loudly, the whisky already taking effect, and he shouted, ‘It’s showtime, folks!’

Molly had gone back to her own home knowing that, even in these circumstances, her daughter-in-law would rather she left them to their own devices. Her presence would probably make the girl worse; Caroline wasn’t exactly subtle with the way she treated her husband’s mother. It was hard for a mother to be sidelined so deliberately by her son’s wife, but it was the way of the world, and it rankled. At least Cain brought little Michael round to her − that had to be enough.

As she sipped her whisky and ginger ale she pondered on the young girl her son seemed so enamoured of. She had liked her a lot. But what would be the upshot if her son walked away from his wife and family? Caroline Moran would never sleep another full night in her bed, she knew that much. She would move heaven and earth to make sure that Cain never had another happy day in his life.

Molly had warned her son on numerous occasions that he was making a rod for his own back, but he had never listened to her, and why would he? He was his own man, and he had married Caroline despite the warning signs. Men! Looked after all their lives − they just went from their mothers to their wives.

Molly was surprised by how much she had taken to Jenny Riley. There was an innate honesty about her that belied her tender years. She was a woman in every way, and a good woman at that. She emanated kindness and that was something few people truly possessed.

Christ Himself knew she wished her son had picked a wife she could at least like. That was an impossible emotion to feel when you dealt with Caroline on a daily basis. Molly had been invited to Christmas dinner once; it had not been a success and, after that, she had been glad to be left to her own devices. The day had been fraught with tension, and she had felt her daughter-in-law’s resentment the whole time she had been there. It had been hard to swallow her dinner, even though she was the one who had cooked it. She had slaved all day, and not a word of thanks from Caroline, though her mother Jane had been at pains to make her feel welcome.

That silly mare had always seen her as a rival for Cain’s affections, which was laughable really considering she was his mother. She hoped that having had a child − and a son − Caroline might have understood the relationship better but it never made one iota of difference. Molly would always be the terrible old whore who had dragged up her son, and who was to be ridiculed and sidelined for the rest of her days. Molly felt the sting of tears at the thought − the truth was often far more painful than people realised.

Cain, at least, loved her with a vengeance; he didn’t see her as an ex-brass − he saw her as a victim of circumstance. That was true in many ways. She had been the victim of her own naïveté and the fact that she had been a very good-looking girl. Men were always her downfall − she never picked the right ones.

Something about Jenny Riley appealed to Molly, maybe the fact that she had encountered a kindred spirit: another person who loved Cain Moran with all her heart.

There was a knock on her front door and, surprised to get a visitor this late, she went to unlock it with the usual trepidation in her heart. Was it the Old Bill telling her that her son was nicked or, worse still, that he was dead? That he had been murdered?

She opened the door with a trembling hand so was pleased to see Jenny Riley standing on her doorstep.

‘I know it’s late, Mrs Moran . . . Molly . . .’

Then she burst into tears, and Molly Moran, being Molly, took the girl into her arms and hugged her tightly, all the while whispering endearments. She had turned up unexpectedly and eased her dreadful loneliness. To Molly Moran, this girl was like a gift from God Himself.

Micky Two Fags was crying silent tears of despair, and Cain found them almost endearing. He was aware that the three men knew that their fates were sealed, but it fascinated him that they were still holding out hope for some kind of divine intervention. It was the old adage, he supposed. Where there’s life, there’s hope. Well, not for any of this lot. They were well and truly out of the game.

Cain and Johnny were enjoying themselves; this was what they did best and how they had made their first step up. Torture was something that most people just weren’t capable of. It wasn’t for everyone, and it didn’t come naturally to the majority. For Cain and Johnny Mac, it was something they did as a matter of course, and it was why they had been unchallenged so far. It was only used in extreme circumstances, and this qualified as extreme to them.

Cain still couldn’t get over the utter cheekiness of these men thinking that they could take him out so easily. They thought he would be fool enough to let them capture him without a fight? It was an insult of mammoth proportions.

Cain Moran called his lads in; there were times in life when only an audience would do. Though these bodies would never be seen again, it was important that at least
some
of the story got out for public consumption, and the only way to guarantee that was to make sure it was a public execution of sorts. Without a body, the Old Bill would be hard pushed to make a case. And, considering the people involved, Cain believed they wouldn’t bother trying anyway. Whispers were all they needed now − and that was just what they were going to create.

Picking up the bolt cutters, Cain set to work on Jimmy Boy Banks. He took his fingers and toes off first, making the pain last as long as possible.

Cain and Johnny knew that the true torture was watching it happen to someone else − and that was the real frightener. Though the lads chosen for the night’s work were good kids, loyal and true, both Johnny and Cain knew that if this night was over-the-top it would be leaked out at some point. The brutality of what they were doing would be talked over by these young observers. In their cups, they would discuss it in hushed voices, wondering if it had really happened. Extreme violence did that to the onlooker − it made them doubt their own eyes. It was exactly what Cain was counting on.

Cain looked at one of the lads and said seriously, ‘Bring me the acid from the car.’

The wait was interminable for everyone concerned. There was blood everywhere from the bolt cutters and Jimmy Boy was groaning in pain. Richie and Micky Two Fags were almost delirious with terror and that all added to the excitement.

One of the boys, Peter Parkes, brought in a large bottle of sulphuric acid and handed it to Cain. They watched as he opened it carefully, before placing it on the ground.

‘Do you see this cunt here, lads? He wore a fucking cravat to my wedding. A
cravat
. I knew then that he was a complete cunt.’ He poured himself another drink and swallowed it down quickly. ‘I mean, in this day and age, who would wear a fucking cravat?’

The boys were grinning now, getting into the swing of things.

‘My wife nearly pissed herself laughing, but I said to her, “Don’t laugh. He has his creds.” I realise now that she was right. Because this cunt was a joke then, and he is an even bigger fucking joke now.’

Jimmy Boy Banks was in agony, lying on the floor with blood flowing out of his body, knowing that it wasn’t enough to kill him quickly. All he had to look forward to now was death, and the peace it would bring him. He was squirming in agony, trussed up like a kipper, his ferret-like face contorting in agony, knowing there was much worse to come. He had already lost his fingers and his toes. It was over for him no matter what. Cain removed the gag, and looked down at the man’s face before saying seriously, ‘This is where the pain really starts, mate.’

As Jimmy Boy Banks opened his mouth to scream, Cain picked up the acid and poured it into his mouth, dissolving his tongue and incapacitating his ability to make even a sound. The stench was overpowering, and Cain and Johnny were pleased to hear a couple of the paid heavies gagging. It meant they were doing their job properly.

Cain started to kick the man in the head until it was obvious to everyone there that he was dead. Then Cain took a step back and let Johnny loose on Micky Two Fags.

When Johnny had finished, they offered Richie Jakobs to the young men they had handpicked, and watched as those same lads tried to outdo each other with their cruelty. Johnny had chosen well; these lads had the makings of a good crew and they enjoyed their work once they got into it. It always amazed Cain that the ones who had seemed the most squeamish at the off were often the most vicious once they were given free rein.

When it was all over, they had the boys clean up and pack the bodies in the burlap sacks they had ready. Then they let the lads leave, and Johnny Mac and Cain disposed of the bodies personally. They were placed in a huge tank in West Thurrock and then a thousand gallons of caustic soda were poured on top of them. It had been a good night’s work.

When they were driving back home, Johnny started to laugh uproariously. ‘When you cut Jimmy Boy’s big toe off all I could hear was retching and when I looked at the crew I could see them white-faced and disgusted. It’s like a war, I suppose − they just needed to be blooded. Because by the end of the night they were like baying hounds!’

Cain laughed with him. ‘Keep your eye on that young Peter Parkes – he has the makings of a great torturer. Fuck me, once he got into it he really pushed the boat out.’

Johnny laughed again. ‘I know, tell me about it. I wasn’t that surprised though, considering the family he’s from. His dad’s just coming out after an eighteen and his older brother is in for murder. It is definitely in the genes there.’