Martina Cole - Close

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.