The Take Page 7

  But it was his voice that Jimmy loved, it was deep brown, like syrup, and it was a voice that was made for a good-looking singer, or a man of refinement. Not the lump of meat that sat in front of him.

  Jimmy loved Ozzy and he’d got the impression over the last year that even if the feeling was not exactly mutual, the man liked him. They got on like a house on fire. He sometimes gave him requests to Patricia which even Freddie didn’t know about. Ozzy’s sister was everything to him, and Jimmy liked her and respected her a lot. As Ozzy said, she thought like a man, and that was high praise indeed from someone of his calibre.

  Jimmy enjoyed the prison visits. From the first time he had walked through the security clearance and stepped into the SSB visiting unit in Parkhurst he had felt as if he had come home. The prison fear was gone from him now.

  He knew he could hack this environment if he had to. He didn’t want to, but knowing that if it all came on top he could hold his own without fear made his life so much easier, as well as being a constant reminder to Jimmy of how life could change dramatically, overnight, in their chosen profession.

  Ozzy had two Kit Kats and two mugs of tea delivered to their table. He was the only inmate afforded this luxury and the POs turned a blind eye, understanding his need to be treated with respect. It made his life easier and it definitely made theirs easier. So it was a small price to pay.

  Most of them were crunching extra wages from him anyway, whether it was for a bottle of Scotch to mellow out his Saturday nights or a few ounces of coke to mellow out his evenings while he plotted and planned his empire. He also made sure there was enough smack in the prison to keep many of the lifers higher than a Jumbo jet while they pissed away valuable years of their life.

  Seeing the respect made Jimmy feel fortunate, made him feel a part of the big picture. He was unconsciously modelling himself on Ozzy. He liked the way the man never shouted to make himself heard. Liked the way he smiled and joked his way through trouble, and so sorted things easily and amicably.

  He used violence as a last resort, and it worked for him because when he did use it, the violence was so extreme the repercussions were felt for many years afterwards. He would cripple or maim, and anyone on the receiving end knew that they deserved it. But the reputation he gathered each time was what made him the legend he was.

  When the violence finally arrived, it was far more than should have been expected. It never really fitted the alleged crime, it just shocked even the most hardened of cons in its savagery.

  Never lose your temper in public. That was Ozzy’s best advice, and he had been repeating it to Jimmy now for twelve long months. His education was nearly complete. Ozzy asked for, and more importantly respected, his opinions.

  As they sat together now, Jimmy could feel the respect of all the lags and their families around him. He drove a new BMW and he dressed properly, and he was also learning how to play the crook’s most dangerous game: how to keep out of stir.

  And he had the best teacher in the world sitting right in front of him.

  Patricia O’Malley was a little bit annoyed with herself. Ozzy would go ape shit if he knew, but even that fact could not disguise the thrill of what she had allowed to happen.

  Freddie Jackson was scum, he was the lowest common denominator, but she had felt the sexuality off him from the first time she had laid eyes on him. It had been years since she had felt that much excitement over a man.

  She liked deep down and dirty sex, always had, ever since she had lost her virginity to a bank robber at fourteen. The next day he had copped a fifteen and she had copped off with her games teacher, another older man who had been kind enough to show her what her mother and every other woman was missing.

  He had shown her how much sex could be enjoyed without love of any kind - she thought like a man in that respect. She liked sex for what it was, a good feeling, a release of tension. Nothing more, nothing less. She couldn’t understand how women fucked up their whole lives over it, wasted it on one man.

  And she had dropped to her knees for a man she could crush without a second’s thought if he upset her, and who would now think he had one over on her. Freddie Jackson was all she hated in men, and he was also all that she loved. She would enjoy bringing him down, enjoy making him sweat. If he was stupid enough to believe that a roll in the hay was going to bring him any favours from her then he was in for a big shock. He wasn’t the first man to think that, and she knew he would not be the last.

  When Freddie walked in a few minutes later she was ready for him.

  He entered the room like he owned the place, like it was already his through last night’s sexual activity. His smile told her he thought he was on the ball, on top of everything. He was thrilled with himself, thought because he had made her moan he was now her boss. He was washed and dressed better than usual, she would give him that much. He had made an effort.

  ‘How are you today?’

  Even his words were like a drawn sword.

  She pulled herself up to her full height, five feet seven inches, and she grinned at him sarcastically. ‘You talking to me, you fucking prick?’

  She dripped ice, and she looked him over as though she had not seen him naked and panting only hours earlier. She could see the pupils of his eyes widen with the shock of her words.

  Pat was determined to keep this as a business arrangement, and to keep him under her heel just in case she felt like another roll with him at a later date. The main thing with people like Freddie Jackson was never to give them an inch. She would have to watch him like a hawk.

  As Ozzy was always saying, you learned only by experience. And he was passing all his considerable experience on to a young lad who he sensed had an aptitude for greatness. For the first time in his life Ozzy loved someone, really loved someone, and it was not in a sexual way. Sex had never been very high on his agenda anyway. Which was exactly the reason why he found it so easy to be banged up. He wasn’t much for female company, never had been really, yet he wasn’t gay, and if he had been he was hard enough to swallow his knob over it. He was far too respected to let his sexuality get in his way.

  He had just never had the libido of the men he had known over the years. As they had got older the women had got younger, with no logic as far as he was concerned. Ninety-eight per cent of sex was in the head, whoever you were banging at the time.

  After all his years inside, and all his years alone, he saw this young lad as the son he could never have. Had never wanted until now, when he was looking his fifties square in the eye and the knowledge he might not be around for the duration had hit him on the chin. He wanted to leave his empire to someone who would appreciate it, keep his name alive and maybe father enough sons to deal it out to on his death. He saw himself in Jimmy, though obviously the boy was a much better-looking version.

  Ozzy had learned very early that good-looking people got more out of life, they didn’t have to try as hard as their uglier counterparts. And this boy was handsome, but he was unaware of just how attractive he was. It could only be a good thing, because at the end of the day good-looking men always squandered what the good God had given them. Beautiful women used their bodies, that was accepted since women were only good looking for a short time and without a personality they were forgotten in seconds. Once the stretchmarks and the hanging belly took hold they were no more than memories. A good-looking man could have fifteen kids and no one would be any the wiser. It was this fact that told him God was indeed a man. A female God would have given women stretchier skin and the sense to understand business.

  Women walked away from their lives the minute they fell in love. A man could love a woman but she would never be his be all and end all, though a clever man might let her think she was, of course. But nature would always out. The mother of the main children must be taken care of at all costs and a man had to know that any children he was bringing up were his own. No cuckoos in the fucking nest to grow and betray you at some point. You had to be careful. Women
could lie to your face and smile while they did it, every sensible man knew that.

  Now Ozzy was happy to be passing all his wisdom on to this nice little fellow with the handsome face and the mind of an accountant. A young man who was quick to learn and who could fight his way out of a German prisoner-of-war camp.

  Freddie was a good front man, Ozzy respected that, but Freddie would always need to be led by the balls. This Jimmy, he would lead and no one would ever realise what he was doing. It was the difference between a detached residence and a council flat, it was that clear to Ozzy. Freddie for all his big talk would always be just a tad below the average lifer, but this lad was going places.

  ‘How is Freddie getting on with the houses?’

  ‘He’s doing marvels.’

  The fact the boy was so loyal to a man who could barely count without taking his socks off made him all the more endearing to Ozzy.

  ‘That’s not what I heard.’

  Jimmy grinned. ‘Look, honestly, I keep me eye out, he is a good investment. Everyone listens to him. He is as mad as a brush, but he keeps things running smoothly.’

  Ozzy was pleased with the answer.

  ‘He also shags every bird in the houses, don’t he?’

  Jimmy smiled again. ‘Yeah, but he ain’t the only one to do that, is he? Anyway, his wife is ready to drop anytime. He’s a family man at heart.’

  ‘A family man? Are you having a tin bath, son?’

  ‘You know what I mean. She is convinced it is a boy this time. A little lad would sort him out, no trouble.’

  ‘If not, you tell him a big lad will be sorting him out if he ain’t careful. Tell him the armed robberies are too close together and that’s a recipe for Old Bill to start pissing all over him.’

  ‘I’ll relay the message, in me own words of course.’

  Ozzy laughed loudly. ‘You’ll do, Jimmy me boy. Just keep him on a short leash, OK, he is upsetting people.’

  Jimmy nodded. ‘He is a really good enforcer you know, and in his own way he is fair.’

  ‘I understand that, mate, but he also brings a lot of attention his way and that is what we want to avoid.’

  ‘I know that, Oz, but he is loyal to you.’

  Ozzy smiled then, the boy himself was too loyal really, but then family ties were closer than any other kind.

  He snapped open his Kit Kat and ate it slowly, as always digesting everything that had been said before continuing.

  ‘Now, an old mate of mine is getting out of Durham soon. Give him a job and keep your eye on him, OK?’

  Jimmy nodded once more, knowing that whoever this was would be more likely to be keeping his eye on them.

  ‘What’s his name, Oz.’

  ‘Bobby Blaine.’

  Ozzy watched the colour drain from Jimmy’s face.

  Bobby’s name was synonymous with lunacy and also with violence. It was why they had been such good mates.

  Bobby B, as he was known, could instil fear into the meanest of hearts. Bobby was also a laugh, he was the funniest man that Ozzy had ever met, and he had met a few in his time. Bobby could smile and joke as he slit your throat, which of course was his downside, and the side that Ozzy wanted to use.

  Jimmy decided he wouldn’t give him too much responsibility until he had to because, knowing Bobby, he would only be out a year, if that, before he was once more at Her Majesty’s pleasure. While he was home, though, he would use him.

  Ozzy used people like he used his Kleenex, and when they ceased to be of any use, he binned them.

  Simple as that.

  Lena watched her daughter drag herself from the kitchen chair.

  ‘My back’s killing me, Mum.’

  She looked awful. Lena would be very surprised if Jackie went full term with this child. Her belly was heavy and had already dropped, even though it wasn’t due for another few weeks.

  ‘It’s all the weight you’re carrying. That baby must be like Man Mountain Dean.’

  They both laughed at the thought.

  ‘I hope so, Mum. I like the name Dean, it’s a manly, happy name.’

  ‘You’re not naming it Freddie then, after its father?’

  This was said slyly to annoy her.

  ‘Of course it will be called Freddie, but a second name should reflect the child’s family background and character.’

  Lena grinned. ‘Better name it fucking Looney Tunes Jackson then, and be done with it.’

  They laughed once more.

  ‘Or how about calling it Radio Rental!’

  They were shrieking with laughter now.

  ‘Stop it, you rotten old cow. Want another cup of tea?’

  Lena nodded and lit a cigarette. Giving it to her daughter she said gently, ‘Sit yourself down, love, I’ll make it.’

  The kindness in her mother’s voice was nearly Jackie’s undoing, and as usual they had gone from hysterical laughter to verging on tears in seconds.

  ‘Has he been home?’ This was said quietly.

  Jackie beamed as she answered. Drawing heavily on her Kensitas cigarette she said gaily, ‘He is really excited, Mum, can’t wait.’

  Lena smiled once more, glad to see her daughter happy. The pregnancy was keeping her on an even keel for the moment. She prayed daily that Jackie would be delivered of a boy, it was what she wanted so desperately that she had spent huge amounts on seeing tarot readers, psychics, and any other fortune teller she could find in the local paper or through word of mouth.

  All had said the same thing, it was a little lad. Well, it had better be.

  Freddie was out and about a lot, but with her pregnant he was at least touching base more often. After the miscarriage he had been contrite and had blamed himself, but that wasn’t going to last for ever.

  ‘You are keeping off his back, aren’t you?’

  Jackie sighed. ‘’Course I am. It don’t do me any good getting upset, does it? Like you always say, it won’t bring him home.’

  Lena decided not to pursue that line of conversation. The last year had been touch and go with Jackie and Freddie, especially since he had started working the houses along with the other businesses. She had been at the mercy of the houses herself a long time ago when her husband had been a pretender to the throne, and her Joseph had not had half the looks of Freddie. But then, brasses were a breed apart, everyone knew that. They looked out for the main chance and who could blame them?

  Lena had sat it out for years, and now her husband was all hers. It was a hollow victory, she admitted, but a victory all the same. For Jackie, leaving Freddie was not an option and she knew that, but she still dreamed that one day her daughter would get what she wanted from her husband. From what she had heard, though, he was still pole-vaulting with anything in a short skirt. As her husband had remarked so often about his son-in-law, no change there then. And as her husband and Freddie Jackson were like two peas in a pod, she also knew that he was speaking from experience.

  Maggie was smiling her usual sunny smile as she washed hair and made endless cups of tea. Her job as a trainee hairdresser was everything she had wanted and more, and her life revolved around Jimmy, work, Dallas and her family.

  The fashions suited her, the glamorous looks were made for her wide-spaced eyes and thick blond hair, and as such she made a striking contribution to the salon where she worked. Even with the thick make-up she still looked young and fresh, and that was her attraction.

  Her dear little face and happy-go-lucky charm worked wonders with the clientele and she made a fortune in tips. The owner of the salon, a tall woman with high hair and a pseudo French accent knew a find when she had one, and treated Maggie with the right amount of respect and caring.

  This little girl was a quick learner, a kind-hearted and available listener, and did not see anything to do with the hairdressing or the salon beneath her. Madame loved her, and so did anyone who came into her orbit. All the other young girls she had trained up had smiled and worked and waited until they could go on the trot - a
hairdresser’s in Bethnal Green was not their idea of sophistication. Maggie was grateful to be there, and it showed in everything she did. Most of the week it was perms, older women who had had the same styles since the fifties. They had their hair done once a week, it was lacquered so much it would not have moved in a hurricane, and they gossiped and laughed as they drank tea. Three days later they came back for a ‘combout’. And Maggie did these with her usual smile.

  But it was the Friday nights and the Saturdays when Maggie came into her own. The new styles were second nature to her, and she managed to make the girls feel at ease in the old-fashioned salon. She played her own music on the record player: Simply Red. ‘Holding Back The Years’ and ‘Money’s Too Tight To Mention’ always went down well, and she also made sure they had Thunderbird wine to drink. The place was buzzing, and Madame enjoyed having the youngsters back again. Maggie had done the business a big service just by being there. She was dreading the day she walked away like all the others. Maggie Summers was a grafter, and coming as she did from a family of wasters, that, in itself, was a touch. She also sensed that Maggie was not going to follow in their footsteps. This girl would go places, or die in the attempt. Only sixteen and already she knew what she wanted from life.

  Maggie for her part thought Madame Modèle was the greatest thing to hit the earth and was determined to emulate her. She saw the way Madame was with the customers, and she instinctively understood that was the secret of good business. Even the lowliest of women were made to feel special in Madame Modèle’s and Maggie loved her for that alone.

  As she washed an elderly woman’s hair she imagined the day when she would have a salon of her own and a bevy of pretty young women working underneath her all dressed in mint-green overalls and with their hair in French pleats. That had always been her dream, and like everything else she did, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly.