Danielle Ramsay - Broken Silence

He clenched his jaw as he tried to hold back the overwhelming emotion he felt.

Brady closed his eyes as he tried to block out the noise from his past.

‘Expected to find you here,’ mumbled a hoarse, thick Geordie voice.

Brady quickly stood up, inwardly wincing as his leg kicked off at the strain. He turned round shakily.

‘What the fuck do you want?’ he muttered in a low, strained voice.

‘That’s no way to talk,’ replied the shabbily dressed old man sarcastically.

Brady stepped back in repulsion as he took in the pathetic drunk in front of him. The same drunk who had accosted him the previous night outside the station. In daylight he looked worse. What was left of his sandy-coloured, curly hair hung in matted, grey wispy clumps. His yellowing, sagging skin was covered in angry patches of burst blood vessels and crusted sores. His stocky body had become swollen with whatever spirits and cheap beer he could lay his gnarled, liver-spotted hands on.

Brady looked with disgust at his bloated, drunken face.

‘What? Don’t recognise me then?’ he asked gruffly before taking a swig from the bottle clutched in his blackened hand, his venomous eyes never leaving Brady.

Brady stared at him, unable to answer.

The drunk staggered backwards as he took another swig from the half-full bottle of vodka.

‘What are you after?’ Brady asked menacingly as he narrowed his dark brown eyes.

‘Come on, Jackie lad, there’s no need to be unpleasant,’ the man slurred.

‘Get to the point.’

‘I’m a bit strapped for cash right now,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.

‘I’ve already given you enough.’

He smiled at Brady crookedly as he drunkenly shook his head.

‘Well obviously it wasn’t, was it? Or I wouldn’t be back.’

‘I told you the last time, that was it.’

‘Come on, Jackie? I came to offer you a deal,’ the old drunk pleaded. He smiled repulsively baring the few blackened teeth he had left.

Brady turned and walked away.

‘I’ll give you till Monday then?’ he called out after him. ‘Monday, yeah?’

Brady stuffed his clenched fists into his jacket and lowered his head, ignoring the looks he was getting from the group of people waiting to go into the chapel. His face was stinging from the salty rain blowing in from the North Sea. All he cared about was getting back to the car before he lost it.

‘Sir?’ asked Conrad, startled as Brady’s ashen-faced figure climbed into the car.

Brady didn’t react. Instead he closed his eyes and rested his head back against the seat.

‘Are you all right?’ Conrad asked, concerned.

‘I’m fine.’

He realised he was still trembling. The cold, damp North East air had seeped through his clothes. But he knew that wasn’t the reason he couldn’t stop shaking.

‘Conrad?’ said Brady. ‘Drive, will you? Just get me the hell out of this place.’

He pulled himself together. There was only one person now who could help him. He took out his mobile and started punching the number.

‘Yeah, it’s me,’ Brady said as he massaged his aching forehead.

‘I need to talk.’

Chapter Forty-Five

Brady limped into Antonelli’s restaurant and deeply breathed in the heady aroma of freshly ground Italian coffee. He’d left Conrad parked up watching what was left of the North East’s fishing trawlers as they docked into North Shields quayside.

‘Better be good, Jack,’ warned Madley as Brady approached his table.

‘You know me better than that,’ said Brady.

He grimly nodded at the thirty-something, smart-looking, dark-haired man sat next to Madley.

The dark-haired man smiled laconically at Brady.

‘What is it with you coppers? Always turning up just before the deal’s on the table,’ laughed Paulie Knickerbocker.

Brady attempted to casually return the smile.

It was enough for Paulie to know something was wrong.

Brady and Madley had both known Paulie since St Joseph’s Primary School. As soon as word got out amongst the kids that his parents were Italian and ran the ice-cream vans parked up in all weathers outside St Mary’s lighthouse, Tynemouth Sands and Tynemouth Priory, the nickname ‘Knickerbocker’ came about. And for some reason it hadstuck, regardless of the years and Paulie’s two Italian restaurants known by his family name, Antonelli.

But running two restaurants and the family ice-cream business wasn’t all Paulie was known for; he was also the local fence. The vans and the restaurants acted as the ideal cover for such an operation. Paulie had contacts that Brady could only dream of and was always Brady’s first unofficial line of enquiry if a violent burglary had taken place.

Paulie had a strong sense of moral duty which generously extended beyond family and friends. He had an unerring sense of right and wrong when it came to crime. He was happy to fence stolen goods as long as no unnecessary violence was exacted during the robbery. Brady had often laughed about the irony of being a fence with a conscience, but Paulie didn’t see the incongruity of it. His attitude was you should always act civilised, regardless of what you did for a living. Brady put Paulie’s morality down to being raised a devout Roman Catholic combined with growing up in the Ridges, where the brute reality of surviving the streets meant that at times, Catholic morals had to be temporarily put on hold.

Brady pulled out a chair and wearily sat down directly across from Madley.

‘You look like you need a coffee,’ suggested Paulie as he nodded at the waitress busy arranging the tables for the expected lunchtime rush.

‘Same as Martin would be good,’ accepted Brady as he gestured towards Madley’s espresso.

Brady was still trembling. He couldn’t get rid of the image of the shabby drunk who had threatened to destroy what was left of his life. He dragged a shaky hand through his hair as he caught Madley’s concerned gaze.

‘Paulie? Give us a minute will you?’ Madley suggested.

Paulie respectfully nodded as he looked at Brady’s hunched figure.

‘Good to see you, Jack. Don’t leave it too long,’ he said, patting him on the back before leaving.

‘Yeah, same goes, Paulie.’

Brady watched as Paulie disappeared behind the double doors that led into the busy kitchen.

‘Cheers,’ Brady said as he took his coffee from the attractive, dark-haired waitress.

Brady took a sip of scalding black coffee as he turned his attention to Madley.

‘Thanks for the flowers.’

Madley nodded.

‘She was always good to me.’

Brady looked at him. He was right, his mam had always treated Madley like another son. He sometimes forgot that he wasn’t the only one who had taken her death badly.

‘So, what’s this all about?’ Madley questioned as his glinting brown eyes searched Brady’s pale face.

‘He’s back,’ replied Brady.

‘I thought you’d already taken care of him?’

‘Jimmy had. He’d scared him off. But he must have heard that Jimmy’s in it up to his neck and so the bastard reckons he can try and blackmail me again,’ explained Brady.

Madley waited patiently for Brady to say more, but he didn’t.

‘You should have let me take care of him like I said.’

Brady couldn’t bring himself to disagree. He knew Madley was right.

‘Question is, Jack, what are you expecting from me?’

‘I don’t know.’

He sighed heavily as he stared down at his espresso.

‘Until you do, I can’t help you. You understand that, don’t you?’

Brady nodded.

‘I know …’ he said. ‘All I want is for the old bastard to disappear for good.’

Madley narrowed his menacing eyes as he stared at him.