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  Mary automatically began tidying the room, unwilling to leave the daughter who, from her birth, had caused her nothing but heartache and sorrow. She had colluded in so many of this girl’s lies, she was wondering now if she might be partly to blame for this latest upset. She had let her daughter have her freedom because she felt it was a different world now, her daughter lived in a world where she was allowed an opinion, was allowed to choose things for herself. Her own mother had bought her clothes for her right up until she had got married. But Mary also knew that a lot of her parenting with Imelda was sheer laziness on her part. She just didn’t have the energy or the inclination needed to keep her in line. Imelda had such a strong personality, was so argumentative it was easier to let her get on with it. Guilt was a terrible thing, Mary knew that better than anyone. She also knew it was something that would never trouble this daughter of hers. Imelda Dooley had never developed a conscience, and she doubted she ever would, especially at this late stage.

  Gerry Dooley was more than ready for Jason Parks, and as he watched him come out into the cold night air he felt once more the anger and humiliation wash over him. That his daughter had been taken down by the likes of Jason Parks was too much for him to bear. All night he had hunted this boy down, had searched for him, even though he knew that Jackie and the boys thought he was over-reacting to what had happened. He had got the distinct impression that his own sons did not regard their sister’s version of events as wholly honest. Well, she was definitely in the fucking club, so at least a percentage of what she had said had to be true. He had a feeling she was milking the situation, but then that was her, she had always been that way inclined. But then she was a young girl, and young girls were foolish, they were romantic, and, above all, they were vulnerable. Especially where scum-bags like Parks were concerned.

  Now the boy was standing before him. Jason Parks had the stance of a boxer, and Gerry knew he was bracing himself for whatever was about to happen. He looked into the young man’s handsome face, saw the fear there, and also the determination to face what was coming. Then he gave his colossal anger a free rein.

  Jason felt the first punch. It was like being hit by a train, it was so powerful and painful and, as he dropped to the filthy Tarmac, he knew that his only chance of survival was to get back up on to his feet as quickly as possible. He rolled away, grateful for the heavy leather jacket he was wearing. As he got up, he saw the other men around him. He saw Imelda’s brothers standing apart from their father and, even in his confusion, he sensed that they were not really a part of what was going down.

  Jackie Martin, as always, was waiting to see what happened; he was Gerry’s right-hand man though, in reality, he was no more than his Yes Man. He was watching Jason warily and, unlike the brothers, he was willing to do whatever might be needed to bring this to a successful conclusion. As he assessed the situation Jason heard Gerry Dooley’s voice, ‘You fucking raping piece of dirt.’

  Even Gerry Dooley couldn’t fail to see the look of absolute shock on Jason Parks’s face at his words. Jason was genuinely stunned, so shocked he actually took a step backwards.

  Now he understood what was going down, knew then that this man was on a mission. He knew that he was fucked because there was no way he could argue his case with a man who was going to defend his daughter’s honour, no matter what.

  Jason was shaking his head in denial and Jackie Martin knew then and there that he had not taken Imelda Dooley by force. He was a little fucker, and he was a fucking womaniser. But then he was a young bloke, sex was all he thought about, they had all been there, only they had all had the sense to take their urges out on the girls who were renowned for their generous natures. Girls who did not have fathers who were known for their violence, who earned their very living from violent acts. If this silly sod was guilty of anything, it was bad judgement.

  ‘I did not rape your daughter, Mr Dooley . . .’

  Gerald Dooley laughed then and, looking around him at the others, he said angrily, ‘Like father like son, scum. You gave her a child, and that’s proof enough for me. She’s been terrified of telling me who the fucking culprit was and now I know why. She knew that I’d have to fucking kill you, and I will do just that. Make no mistake.’

  Gerry advanced towards him once more, his huge shoulders knotted with suppressed rage and his fists clenched ready for another attack. Jason, whose brains were scrambled from the drugs he had taken, and the drink he had imbibed, was a young man who felt that his integrity was being maligned for no real reason, and felt honourbound to defend it. He said quietly and purposefully, ‘I never raped your daughter, Mr Dooley, I didn’t fucking need to.’

  Even as he spoke, he knew he was just making things worse; men like Dooley found it easier to believe their precious daughters had been forced into the sex act. That was far more preferable than believing that their little angels were as up for it as their boyfriends. Jason also knew, somewhere in his drugged and fear-addled mind, that he had gone too far.

  As Dooley came at him once again, his animal strength giving him the appearance of a much younger and fitter man, Jason Parks was more than ready for him. He pulled the knife he kept in his jacket pocket out of its hiding place and, as he felt the full weight of Gerald Dooley’s anger approaching him once more, he thrust the knife into the man’s chest with all the strength he could muster.

  It was an odd feeling, almost surreal, as it slipped between the man’s ribs and punctured his heart in a split second; he hadn’t hit bone, or even the cloth of the man’s jacket. The knife, which had a six-inch blade and a carved bone handle, had not encountered any kind of resistance at all. It had entered the man’s body silently and slickly. It had achieved its objective though; it had stopped him in his tracks.

  Jason couldn’t believe how easy it had been. As Dooley dropped on to his knees, clasping his chest with both of his huge rough hands, all Jason Parks could think about was that there was no real blood. Nothing. Yet he knew the man was dying in front of his eyes.

  Jason knew that he had delivered a fatal blow, and he was genuinely sorry for that. It was the speed of the action that had thrown him though: with a split second he had taken this man’s life.

  As Gerald Dooley lay on the filthy ground, the men gathered around stood in silence, all in shock at what had just happened. Each of them was acutely aware that in a few short seconds their lives had been changed irrevocably.

  Gerry lay there, his huge bulk completely still now, looking incongruous on the cold ground where only minutes before he had been standing, talking and breathing and alive.

  For Jackie Martin and the Dooley brothers, this man’s death had left them without a spearhead, without any kind of leadership. Without him to guide them, they were not even sure how they were supposed to react to his death. It was Des Pollard who, with his own interests in mind, took control of the situation.

  Des already knew that Jason’s father was out of the picture. By all accounts he was as dead as a fucking doornail, and that his death had been hastened somewhat by Gerald Dooley would soon be common knowledge. So the Filth would hear about it sooner rather than later, which was a good thing in some respects as it would stop them all from shoving their noses in where they weren’t wanted. So, making a decision that he felt would be the best for all concerned, especially for him and the people who frequented this establishment, he took matters into his own hands.

  Taking the knife from Jason Parks, he saw the absolute shock, horror, that this kind of random violence often caused. Unlike professional acts of aggression, for either financial reasons, or for the furtherance of a cause, for example the collection of a gambling debt or such like, this kind of violence caused far more trouble than it was worth. This was wanker’s violence, the sort of shite that happened outside cheap nightclubs, where young men with too much drink and not enough brain cells made the biggest mistake of their lives over either a female or pride. This kind of stupidity had no place in their world, where any violenc
e was controlled and was no more than a means to an end.

  While Gerald Dooley was still in the land of the living, his determination to avenge his daughter’s rather dubious reputation was acceptable. After all, he had his creds, and he was therefore within his rights to do whatever he felt was necessary to sort out the situation. Now, though, that had changed.

  For starters, Des had a dead Face on his premises, and that was something that had to be sorted out, sooner rather than later.

  ‘Get inside, all of you.’

  Des knew that the door to the main bar area was already locked and bolted, so there was no fear of anyone wandering in on top of them all. Two of his own sons were already lifting the huge carcass of Gerald Dooley off the floor and into a nearby van. Des was gutted; the van was nearly new and now it would have to be disposed of at the same time as the body. The clean-up operation was done quickly and quietly, with the minimum of fuss. It wasn’t the first time someone had expired on these premises and he had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last. This was more about damage limitation than anything else. He was saving his own arse, and he was also sensible enough to know that all the people involved would be eternally grateful for his ministrations in their time of need.

  Des went back inside and poured them all stiff drinks. He saw that the Dooley boys, both of whom were nice kids, though not exactly what could be termed university material, were shaking in shock at their father’s untimely death. He also saw that Jason Parks, who he actually quite liked after seeing how he had handled himself, was only a line of snort away from total meltdown. If Jason’s old man was still on the scene he would have probably taken his side tonight, but he wasn’t. Gerald Dooley worked for some serious people and that was what Des was keeping in mind. They had liked and respected him, and they would also understand his reasons for the night’s fucking upsets. Gerry had been looking after his own, and that was something they could all associate with in one way or another.

  Des caught Jackie Martin’s eye and, shrugging, he walked softly up to Jason Parks, grabbed him tightly by his hair and quickly and cleanly cut the boy’s throat. It was a necessary evil. But after the accusations, which like a lot of people he believed were rather exaggerated on Imelda Dooley’s part, Jason was already finished in their world. You could live down a lot of things, except grassing or violence against women or children. There were some things that were taboo, and Jason Parks had been accused of rape. As the boy bled out, Desmond was already opening a bottle of industrial strength bleach and telling himself that the place was overdue for a new carpet anyway.

  Jackie Martin was saddened at his friend’s death, he was on his own now, and he knew that he didn’t have the presence of mind or indeed the acumen that was needed for this line of work. Without Gerry he was fucked. He couldn’t believe what had happened to his life in the space of a few hours.

  Three deaths in one night, the fucking Kray twins had been banged up for less.

  Imelda Dooley had watched her mother as she listened politely to the policeman. She had shown no emotion as he had explained to her in a very low and very respectful voice that Gerald Dooley’s body had been found on a bit of waste-land, with another man’s, and she was now a widow. Imelda had watched in morbid fascination as her mother calmly offered them tea, asked them the appropriate questions and eventually saw them to the door.

  In the forty-eight hours since her father and brothers had walked out of the house, the world as she knew it had ended. Three people were dead, and her family had been left without the protection of her father’s name.

  Her brothers were useless without their father to guide them, even she could see that much, and Jackie Martin, who up until now she had seen as almost her father’s equal, seemed to have visibly shrunk before her eyes.

  Like her mother, he had aged dramatically over the last couple of days, and she knew that neither he, nor her mother, would ever regain their previous strength. It was as if, with his death, Gerald Dooley had drained the life-force out of his whole family.

  As Imelda slipped up to her bedroom, away from the crushing grief that was tainting everything and everyone it came into contact with, she wondered once more at how well her mother had taken her husband’s death.

  For the first time in her life she felt guilty, felt responsible. It was not a feeling she was used to and definitely not a feeling she ever wanted to experience again. She was the catalyst for everything that had happened, and she would admit that to herself in the dark hours of the night but, Imelda being Imelda, blamed all that had happened on the child she was carrying. A child that had been created without a second’s thought by two people who couldn’t even look after themselves, let alone a child, and whose existence was the cause of not only its father’s death, but of both its grandfathers too. It was a child of pain and suffering and she hated it.

  As Imelda sat on the edge of bed she felt the urge to scream wash over her. She placed a hand firmly across her mouth, convinced that if she didn’t then she would start screaming and, once she started, she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to stop.

  She bent over double then, her free arm hugging her own body, swallowing down the sobs that were fighting to get out. She felt a pain so acute inside her chest she honestly believed the child had finally taken the hint and packed up, ready to vacate her unwilling body. Instead though, she dropped onto the carpeted floor and, rocking backwards and forwards, she cried silent tears. Feeling them gush from her she felt the frustration and the rage building up once more as what she had done, what she had been the cause of, was played out in her mind’s eye all over again.

  She had always sailed close to the wind, she was the first to admit that, and she had caused her fair share of trouble over the years. But never in her wildest dreams had she ever believed that something so heinous could have befallen her family over something she had done.

  Her temper, as always, had been her downfall. Now it had brought the whole family down with her.

  As she knelt there, she heard a high-pitched wailing and, for a few seconds, she wondered where it was coming from. It was only when her mother came into the room and pulled her roughly into her arms that she realised the sound was actually emanating from her. For the first time in years she enjoyed her mother’s strong embrace, didn’t try to shrug her off, or push her away. For once she didn’t act as if she was too old and too sophisticated for a mother’s love, a mother’s gesture of protection.

  Instead, she hugged her back, grateful for the contact with another human being, grateful for her mother’s familiar smell, a mixture of cigarettes and Ajax toilet cleaner. She needed this woman’s support and love badly now. She had not felt this alone, had not felt this kind of abandonment before in her life.

  As she cried on her mother’s shoulder, Imelda felt her face being touched, felt her mother pulling her face away from the folds of her clothes and, looking into her daughter’s empty eyes, she said softly, ‘If anything happens to this baby, Mel, I’ll hold you responsible, do you understand me? After all you’ve caused, you had better fucking make sure we have something to show for it. I know you, you have no fucking scruples, you’d flush it down the toilet without a second’s thought.’

  Looking intently at the woman she had spurned and ridiculed for the best part of her life, Imelda saw something she had never seen before, had never even thought she would see. Her mother had finally been pushed too far. She knew that as she recognised, not only deep dislike in her mother’s wide-spaced blue eyes, but also a hardness that had never been there before.

  Chapter Five

  ‘We can bury your father at last. The police are releasing his body tomorrow.’

  Mary looked at her three children, the boys as always said nothing, they were like a rudderless ship. Drifting from one day to the next. Without their father telling them what to do and how to do it, they had no real sense between them. She was astounded at how dense they actually were, an original thought would die of fucking lonelin
ess.

  They now looked to her for their guidance, looked to her for work; she had been forced to pull herself out of her own tragedy to ensure that Jackie Martin gave them a living. And he wasn’t much better; without Gerald behind him he was about as much use as a chocolate teapot. It was a fucking joke, except she wasn’t laughing. She was doing her best to keep everything going. Money was needed now, more than ever. A lot of people had come through for them, and she was grateful, but those handouts were not going to last for ever. She had to get the boys back in proper work, and thereby get her cut from Jackie Martin, because she wouldn’t trust that ponce as far as she could throw him. He was a hanger-on by nature, a number two by chance; Gerald had never wanted anyone he thought might challenge him. Jackie Martin was not cut out for the top job, the mere thought of taking his rightful place terrified him. He was a bully, he liked the kudos of being Gerry Dooley’s partner, and he liked the fact that Gerry Dooley hadn’t wanted any more from him than that. Gerry had carried Jackie Martin for years, and that was no longer a secret in their world. That the partnership had suited her husband was known and understood. Gerry was a man who would never have relinquished his authority without a fight and he had made damned sure that he did not have a number two, who, at some point in their acquaintance, would suddenly decide he wanted to be the number one.

  Jackie Martin had been quite happy to play second fiddle and Gerald had always acted as if they were both the decision makers. But without Gerald’s reputation, and without Gerald’s brainpower, Jackie Martin was fucked. He did not even know how much was coming in, he had trusted Gerald with everything, and that had suited them all until this had happened.

  Now though, with her sons shown up for the retards they actually were, and Jackie Martin acting like he had never collected a debt, or delivered a threat before in his life, things were starting to look decidedly iffy. Mary knew that without her orchestrating their every move, they would all be destroyed and forgotten about in no time. She knew that she had to take over from her old man, and run the business from behind the scenes. She knew that more than a few of the people they dealt with would guess what was going on. After all, Jackie Martin had not exactly come up trumps since his partner’s demise. He seemed to have shrunk, physically shrunk. It was odd, but he had somehow lost his swagger, his usual bravado. He was a real disappointment to her. Even though Mary had not expected him to do a Joe Bugner, she had expected him to take on some of the day-to-day running of the business.