The Good Life (12 page)

When Lenny McAvoy arrived, Peter was taken aback by the man’s size − he was enormous. Cain was tall even for a man, but this bloke towered over him. He was also very pale, with light blond hair, white skin that would burn in the summer sun and, most noticeable of all, he was loud. His voice was booming and, as he shook hands with Cain and Johnny, his two goons, who were nearly as big as Lenny, went and sat at a separate table.

‘So, Cain, great to be down South for a few days. Fucking crazy place, this London! How the fuck do you manage to get around with all the traffic?’

The men chitchatted for a while, and Peter Parkes served them drinks, leaving the bottle of Scotch on the table for the men to help themselves. Peter watched everything going on. He noticed that the two goons were not drinking, but were surveying the scene with shrewd hooded eyes. He knew things were not as hunky-dory as was being made out.

Cain was laughing at a joke that Lenny had told about an Irishman and a German shepherd, when he said suddenly, ‘I hear you were down here a few months ago, Lenny.’ There was a steeliness in Cain’s voice that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room.

Peter saw the two goons sit up that bit straighter at the change of tone. Johnny Mac turned in his chair and eyed them quickly. ‘Sit there and don’t fucking move unless you want me to get annoyed.’ The men took the warning and relaxed back into their seats.

Johnny had a way that made even the biggest of men take heed of him. A lot of it was due to the fact he could fight like a fucking drunken navvy and that he always won. Peter had heard a story that the secret of Johnny Mac’s success was that no one could put him down and keep him down − he just kept getting up and going back at the fight again. Cain joked that Johnny just tired his opponents out; they let him win so they could go home and have their dinner. Johnny Mac had always laughed the loudest at that. Now Peter was seeing that Johnny Mac was a real force to be reckoned with.

Cain carried on, ‘Don’t walk in here giving me a load of old fucking fanny, OK? I know who you saw and what was said. Now I want to hear it from you.’

That Lenny McAvoy was taken aback was an understatement; he was genuinely stunned at the other man’s knowledge of his movements. He knew he needed to acquit himself well or he was in big trouble.

The atmosphere was charged now, and there was a sense of fear creeping up Peter Parkes’s backbone. He was impressed with Cain Moran and Johnny Mac; they were the fucking nuts there was no doubt about it.

Lenny McAvoy picked up his whisky and drained it in one swallow before pouring himself another good shot. ‘Well, I’ve had a right capture here, ain’t I?’

He sounded contrite, and Peter saw Cain start to relax. His hand remained inside his suit jacket though, so he was still handling his gun.

‘You have at that, my old mucker. Now stop fucking about and start talking.’

‘I had a meeting with Jackie Cliff − I provide his pharmaceuticals, as I am sure you know. It seems though that you have your own supplier and that is not Jackie. I earned a lot of money from him, and we had it sewn up tighter than a nun’s cunt, Cain. Now I am getting fuck-all. Hence this meeting.’

Cain laughed then, a real loud belly laugh. ‘Let me tell you about Jackie Cliff, educate you for a moment here. I wouldn’t use that treacherous cunt if my life depended on it. He was cutting your stuff to nothing and doubling his money while screwing you out of yours. He also gets stuff from the continent − not just drugs but hard-core porn. The lorry drivers bring it for him. He promises payment to people and then reneges. There are more than a few people out there who would like a private word with him and a baseball bat. I don’t use him, or the people he associates with, because he’s a fucking grass. No one can do what he does so blatantly unless they are protecting themselves. Any rivals seem to get nicked pretty quickly, if you get my drift. So now you know why you were rowed out in favour of a more profitable, but less dangerous, supplier. Me and Johnny here control everything this side of the Watford Gap, and you, my friend, would do well to remember that. You come visiting in future and you make sure we know about it long beforehand.’

There was a definite threat there and Lenny McAvoy accepted it; in fact, as Cain remarked later on, he took it on the chin, and he respected that in any man.

‘I see. I can only assume you know what you’re talking about, Cain, and I bow down to your superior knowledge of the situation. But the fact remains I am still without a very lucrative earn.’

Peter felt a sneaking admiration for Lenny; it said a lot for a man when he was faced with this kind of opposition to still press his suit. And, in all fairness, he did have a good point.

Johnny Mac as always deferred to Cain and it would be his decision regarding the matter. Cain poured them another round of drinks, and flashing his disarming smile, he said seriously, ‘I reckon we can come to some kind of arrangement, Lenny. But on one condition.’

Lenny was obviously happier now he had the chance of an in. ‘And what would that be?’

‘We get a percentage of your earnings up North.’ It was a brazen move, and one that would either be accepted or would cause a war.

‘Why would I do that, Cain?’ There was definite sarcasm now.

‘Because, my old china, me and Johnny here are going to be your new suppliers. We can get better stuff, and not only is it cheaper, it is also safer for all concerned because we’re dealing with the Colombians and the Jamaicans direct. There’s no middle man, and with the quantities we are dealing in, it’s worth everyone’s while to take advantage.’

Lenny McAvoy was thrilled. He picked up his glass and raised it in a toast, before they swallowed their drinks. Lenny was mentally counting up his profit in his head, wondering why he’d not had the foresight to meet up with this fellow before. It was true what he had heard − the man was a walking fucking cash register and, what was more, Lenny decided he liked him. Moran had no side to him, and that was always a bonus in their game. And that was something he could take advantage of.

‘Oh, one more toast. I just remembered.’

Everyone looked at Cain and he refilled their glasses before ostentatiously checking his Rolex, and saying heartily, ‘To the recently departed Jackie Cliff. Who shrugged off his mortal coil about forty-five minutes ago.’

Everyone laughed.

Jenny had a backache, and she was lying in a hot bath, drinking a cup of weak tea. She had never thought anyone could be this happy. She had to pinch herself at times to make sure it was really happening. Cain was so good to her, he looked after her as if she was made of glass. She could feel his love in everything he did and said, and oh, how she loved him back. She adored the man.

She was carrying high with hardly any spare weight and, unlike for a lot of women, her pregnancy had been virtually trouble free. She still looked wonderful − blooming, as Cain was forever telling her. He treated her like a queen, insisting she had money, new clothes, whatever she wanted.

Now they were getting a room ready for the baby and she was having the time of her life planning the décor and the colour schemes. It seemed as though she had stepped into her own personal heaven.

She felt the baby moving and with that came a tiny stab of fear; she was terrified of the birth itself. As she was only seventeen, the midwife said that youth was on her side when it came to having a baby. Well, it was going to happen whether she wanted to do it or not, so she would just have to get on with it.

As she pulled herself out of the bath, she saw herself in the mirrored tiles on the wall, and couldn’t help smiling. She had a small bump, but other than that she looked more or less as she had before, though her breasts were much heavier and tender. She wrapped herself in the luxury of a huge white bath towel and, walking slowly, she went through to the kitchen where she would wash up her cup. She cleaned obsessively; the flat was so nice she couldn’t bear to see anything out of its place. She was forever plumping up cushions or dusting the surfaces so the whole place gleamed. She knew it pleased Cain − he liked her to be ‘housewifey’, as he called it.

It was in the kitchen that she sensed something was wrong, but she couldn’t place what that might be. As she turned to walk out, her head exploded into a thousand flashing lights. Her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor, her hands and arms instinctively cradling her belly to protect her unborn child.

‘You fucking whore! Did you think you would get away with it, eh? Did you think I was going to roll over and just let you walk off with my old man?’

It was Caroline kicking her as she spoke, and Jenny could feel the hatred dripping out of the woman. Jenny was terrified. A particularly hard kick in the kidneys sent a spasm of pain through her back, and she groaned loudly. The towel had fallen away and her exposed belly and breasts seemed to enrage Caroline more.

Grabbing her hair, she kept banging Jenny’s head on the floor, and Jenny was screaming for her to stop when suddenly the front door was being hammered on and Caroline realised that someone must have phoned the police.

She looked down at the bloody mess at her feet, and closed her eyes in despair. Next she heard the wood shattering as the front door was kicked in. She was praying it was the police and not Cain, because she knew if he saw this scene he would surely kill her stone dead.

‘Jesus Christ! I will fucking
murder
that bitch.’ Eileen was beside herself with anger and fear for her daughter.

Molly Moran placed a hand on her arm, saying sensibly, ‘Hush now, Eileen, I am sure that Cain is sorting the situation out.’

It was a warning and Eileen heeded it, but she was overwhelmed with grief. If Jenny lost that child she would never be the same; that child and Cain Moran was all she lived for at the moment, and look what that had got her. What kind of scum attacked a pregnant girl? No matter what the provocation, pregnant women were out of bounds. End of.

Caroline had given Eileen’s daughter the hiding of her life, there was no doubt about that. Jenny’s face was swollen up like a football, and there were bruises all over her body. Her eyebrow had been stitched as had her lip, and she was bleeding badly. The baby must have taken a battering too, if the bruises on her abdomen and back were anything to go by.

Cain had walked into the hospital, taken one look at Jenny, spoken to the doctors and then left immediately. Molly Moran had taken out her rosary beads and began praying. Not just for Jenny and the child, but for Caroline, because she didn’t want her son put away over trash like her.

Sergeant Crammer had been expecting Cain Moran, but he had not been looking forward to the visit. As Cain burst into the police station he looked like a man on a mission to murder. Everyone was more than aware of who he was − considering most of them were on his payroll that was hardly surprising. Still, this was a delicate situation, though Caroline had of course been taken into custody. She was cooling off in one of the cells. They were just waiting to know what Cain Moran’s plans were.

‘Where is she?’

The sergeant looked at the man in absolute terror; Cain looked apoplectic.

He bellowed, ‘Where the fuck is she?’

Johnny Mac had arrived at the station a few seconds before Cain and he motioned to the sergeant to open the door and take Cain through to the holding cells. Seeing Johnny Mac there, Crammer decided it was safe to do as was requested, and he unlocked the door. Cain was through it, banging it open, and knocking the sergeant nearly on to his ample behind in his hurry. A couple of CID followed Cain down to the cells, and one of them pointed at Caroline, who was sitting on a bunk looking angrier than ever. Cain and Caroline glared at each other for long moments.

‘Open the fucking door.’

DI Royston Marchant said sensibly, ‘Come on, Cain, this isn’t the time or the place.’

Cain rounded on him, and he seemed to have swelled to twice his considerable size, as a voice, filled with venom, called out, ‘I hope that baby’s dead. I hope it’s brain damaged . . .’

Caroline was enjoying herself, and none of the men knew what to do. ‘Mind you, if it takes after its mother it would be hard to tell, wouldn’t it? I hear she is as ignorant as shit. Mind you, she’s only about fifteen, ain’t she?’

‘Open this cell door or I will fucking rip it off its hinges!’

Suddenly Caroline was frightened; she didn’t think he would get to her in here. This was a police station, for Christ’s sake. Surely they wouldn’t dare.

‘You can’t let him in here! You cannot let him in here!’

Johnny Mac said emphatically, ‘You should have thought of that, love. Open the door, guys, or there will be fucking ructions.’

The cell door was opened and Caroline, seeing Cain’s face, had shrunk back on the lone bunk and was pressing herself against the cell wall as if trying to force her way out.

‘You can’t let him in here! He will kill me!’

Cain was on her in seconds. Grabbing her by the throat, he practically lifted her one-handedly off the bunk, and up against the wall, all the time squeezing her neck as she tried to fight him off. She was strong, there was no doubt of that, but he was stronger and his anger was such he could easily have snapped her neck without a second’s thought.

‘You vindictive fucking bitch! That you would harm an innocent child. You fucking hateful witch.’

Johnny Mac was pulling him away from her now; he had the sense to know that Cain had to confront Caroline to get his anger out. But he mustn’t kill her no matter what she had done. This was a friendly nick to them, but it wouldn’t be friendly for long if there was a murder on its premises.

‘Come on, Cain, don’t give it the satisfaction.’

Cain dropped her like a sack of potatoes and Caroline crumpled to the floor, holding her throat, gasping for breath.

‘You’re right, she ain’t worth doing time over.’ He looked down at her and his voice dripped poison. ‘You’re a sad, fat, vicious-mouthed cunt, and I must have had shit in my eyes when I met you. All you ever do is fucking moan, piss and moan. Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it? You, who was brought up above a fucking tobacconist’s shop, giving yourself airs and graces. Well, that Jenny,
my
Jenny, is worth a hundred of you. She is kind, she is nice, and every minute of every day ain’t about her. You brought this on yourself. No man will ever stay with you because you’re too discontented, Caroline. You don’t know how to be happy or how to make others happy. But this is the final straw. You were getting the earth from me, and now you will get the bare fucking minimum. I will hit you where it hurts − in your pocket, darling. You might even have to get a job. That will be a laugh! You’re capable of nothing. But mark my words, you ever go near her again and I will kill you, I take an oath on that. If she loses that child you better have a plane ticket out of here because I won’t be responsible for my actions.’