Martina Cole - Close

'Where's Brewster?' It was a statement more than a question.

The doorman didn't move for a while; he was as still as a corpse as he made a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was earwigging, he said, 'He ain't here but he will be back within the hour; he is meeting up with someone you know.'

Patrick nodded slowly. 'What's your name?'

The man held out a meaty fist. 'Colin. Colin Butcher.'

They shook hands and Pat felt the strength of him and the coolness of his palm. This was someone who would not easily be rattled and, once more, he wondered if this was a set-up. He knew the different angles that were used in their business and in stir he had been taught all about them and how to deal with them, by the masters.

But his instinct told him that this boy was good and he decided to trust in it. After all, it had never let him down before.

'I think I'll wait then, if you don't mind?'

Colin smiled then and he looked a completely different man. He had a wide, open smile that was automatically guaranteed to make whoever was on the receiving end of it feel relaxed.

Pat knew then that this man would be an asset to any business. He had the right demeanour and the sense to keep quiet.

'Can I get you a drink?'

Patrick nodded. 'I think I'll go through to the bar and wait there.'

They walked in the club together and Pat felt comfortable with him. He also felt optimistic when he saw the full extent of the club's shabbiness. It was a dump, and dumps were always easier to reclaim than palaces. He suddenly remembered walking in here with his father and he noted that it had the same flock wallpaper on the walls and the same dark-grey carpet that he remembered. It smelt of fags, cheap deodorant and desperation, and he decided that it smelt just like Brewster himself.

Ordering a large Scotch, Pat settled himself at the bar and looked the hostesses over. They were watching him warily and he knew they were wondering if he would be as big a shite to work for as Lenny Brewster. He hoped not.

Brasses bothered him. Not because of how they earned a living but because the very act that made them money was also the thing that stripped away their self-esteem and their enjoyment of ever being with a man. Once women resorted to the game they saw everyone around them as marks and this was what made them so unreliable in the long run. They had no loyalty to anyone, not even themselves.

Pat noted everything around him without even seeming to glance away from his drink. Another little trick he had taught himself in gaol; unexpected eye contact could be the death of you and, in certain prisons, it often was. He had also learned patience and he stood now, completely relaxed and at ease with his surroundings, and waited for Brewster to return.

Spider was watching his son play snooker and he was also watching the time. He knew it was early yet and that Pat wouldn't be there for a long while, but he was nervous. Something he had not been for many a long year.

The boy was a grafter, no doubt about that. He was also a handful; he had heard great things about him in poke and he knew that now he was out and about he was determined to get what he saw as his due. Not just his due, but his mother's due as well. She had been royally used and it was common knowledge. Pat and Lance had been kids and had not understood the seriousness of what had happened but now they were men, and men had a habit of taking great pleasure in reaping revenge when they could.

Spider watched the people in the bar, most of them had had run-ins with Brewster; he had not made a point of keeping friends close. Yet it was friendships and families that were the backbone of their way of life. You needed people you could depend on and that you could trust. Loyalty was important, especially if anyone got their collar felt. Keeping your trap shut when questioned by Old Bill and doing your bird without a squeak was considered the correct way to behave. Brewster had so many enemies now that he would only need a phone booth for a meet with his most trusted friends and advisers.

He had approached Patrick through other people, not even having the nerve to do the dirty deed himself. It was common knowledge and no one who knew about it was impressed. Everyone was waiting though and no one was going to say a word until the two had met and an outcome was decided. Until then, it was a waiting game and the waiting should finally be over tonight.

Jimmy Brick and Lil were walking into the club just as Lenny emerged from his car. His driver always dropped him outside the doorway, in full sight of his doormen and his workforce. The club itself earned a few quid but it wasn't really anything to shout about. It was his office space and where he went to plan or execute his serious skulduggery.

Seeing Lil with Jimmy, he felt his usual anger rising to the surface.

'All right, Jimmy? Long time no see.' His voice was louder than he intended and he knew he was overdoing the friendliness. Him and Jimmy had never really been mates; in fact they had only tolerated each other. But he knew he had to show willing; he had realised that his usual disinterested rudeness would not go down too well at the moment.

Young Pat, as he was being called by all and sundry, seemed to have the same force as his father; it seemed that people were drawn to him. They had a high regard for him and he was only twenty. It was a fucking diabolical liberty to expect him to meet up like he was some kind of fucking gofer. But he knew that he had to suss this out and make sure that he was at least seen to be doing the right thing.

Now, in the middle of it, he had Jimmy Brick looking at him like he was last night's bunk up. Lil was watching him; she had lovely eyes and, in fairness, she was still a very shaggable woman. Although Lenny was often seen with young women, he was actually far happier with the grown-ups. He liked his women to have a bit about them; liked to take the woman from someone else if possible. It suited his strange sense of humour. There was nothing like shagging a rival's bird or, even better, a rival's old woman. It added to the excitement as far as he was concerned, and it also marked the spot, like a dog pissing on a street corner to mark his territory. It let everyone know he had been there and he had done that.

Once he had acquired them, used them and made his point, he discarded them without a second's thought. They were old news, so why would he keep them on board?

Now though, as he followed a silent Jimmy into the club, he felt the urge to laugh. He had arranged a little reception for them all and he was looking forward to seeing their surprise when they realised what was coming their way.

Jimmy Brick was not happy about taking Lil in with him but he had no choice now; she was coming inside with him or without him.

As they walked up the rickety stairs towards the office, Lil was reminded of how many times she had made that journey over the years. Now it seemed that this club was once more going to play a part in her destiny and in the future of her children. She was surprised to find that she was shaking.

She kept thinking that Lance should have been there. That no matter what she thought of him privately, he should have been there with Pat to sort this out once and for all. It would always be remembered that he had not been present and she knew that, in years to come, it would cause problems.

Pat Junior was already inside; he was actually seated behind the old desk, the desk that she had bought one sunny afternoon from Camden Market with Patrick. Now it was scarred from years of hot cups of tea and unattended cigarettes. It was scratched and stained but it still held a certain charm for her. And she could see her husband behind it once more, in the guise of her eldest son. Never had he looked more like his namesake than he did now. He had the same cold look, the same easy manner and the same promise of violence if he didn't get what he wanted.