Maura's Game (29 page)

He hoped that his oldest friend Tommy Rifkind saw the Ryans coming for him, because they would. If only for what had happened with Maura and Carla, they would come for him and for the first time in years Joss would not be there to help him out. For the first time ever he was taking a back seat and leaving Tommy to sort things out on his own. And not before time. Tommy needed a wake-up call. Maybe this would be it. It might teach him a lesson he would never forget. If he lived long enough, of course. Which Joss very much doubted.

Patrick and Maura were finally alone. Sipping Scotch, they watched one another warily.

“Was it Tommy on his own?”

Patrick shook his head.

“Nah, he’s working side by side with Vic, Maura. Probably some others but I only met those two. I couldn’t say too much in front of Joss, as you’ll understand. Tommy doesn’t know we’ve tumbled that as yet. Joss might not know everything that’s gone on. Stands to reason Tommy will keep a lot close to his chest. He’s at a stage where he can’t trust anybody.”

Maura digested this bit of information, feeling her face burn with embarrassment. Patrick ran his hands through his hair.

“It happens, Maura. We all get betrayed in the end. And when it’s by people we love it’s harder to accept. Didn’t my own mother try and turn me in once?”

Maura sighed.

“Been there, done that.”

He smiled.

“I remember. Over the fecking eejit Geoffrey. We never wanted to harm Michael, you know. It was just business.”

She nodded.

“I accepted that a long time ago. I didn’t really have much choice, did I?”

“You’ve lost a lot of people, haven’t you? Brothers, Terry Petherick, now your niece.”

She stared into his eyes coldly.

“As you have, Pat.”

He nodded once more and finished his Scotch.

“Me mother died, you know, a few years ago. I went to see her in the hospital; I was on the run at the time. Had everyone after me in them days. But in I went, bold as brass. She opened her eyes and told me that she couldn’t wait to die so she would never have to look at me again. Called me a murdering bastard. Always had a nice turn of phrase, my mother.”

The bitterness was evident in his voice and Maura felt a moment’s sorrow for him.

“Fucking mothers, who’d have them?”

He laughed loudly.

“Well, none of us would be here without them, girl, that’s for sure. We spend our whole life trying to please them and we know that no matter what we do it will never be enough. We all disappoint our parents it’s a genetic thing, I think.”

Maura didn’t answer him; she poured herself another drink instead.

“You know all about disappointment, don’t you, Maura?”

She lay back on the sofa and held the cold glass to her forehead.

“What am I going to do, Patrick? This will all explode soon and I don’t want any more violence.”

He shrugged and sat down on the sofa, putting her feet on to his lap.

“You are going to get it, Maura. Nothing you can do about that. Garry will lose it when he finds out he never liked Tommy anyway. Everyone knows that.”

Maura smiled.

“Garry doesn’t like anyone. He can’t. It’s not in his make up.”

“He loves you, Maura.”

She shook her head. The Scotch had just kicked in and she knew she should stop drinking; she also knew she wouldn’t, couldn’t, not just yet. She was still feeling too raw. It wasn’t just Carla, it was the Vic/Tommy connection. She should have guessed, should have known, but he had played it so well, she would give him that much. Tommy was a womaniser, she’d accepted that, but she had not known he was also a two-faced, conniving, lying ponce who would betray her whole family. That was what really hurt. She had brought this traitor to their door and now she would have to sort it out. She wondered who else knew about it all. Once it was common knowledge her humiliation would be complete. Maura Ryan not only cuckolded by a Scally, but he had fucked the boys up as well.

“Garry doesn’t love so much as respect or own. That’s his secret, why he gets on like he does. He really doesn’t care a fuck what anyone thinks of him.”

Patrick nodded.

“That will always be his strength.”

“How long have you known about Vic and Tommy?”

He sat back and sighed.

“Six years. Rifkind was in with Vic, Maura, when you went to Liverpool to dispose of his boy. Tommy Senior was the missing piece you were looking for all the time. Vic hasn’t told you for his own reasons. I assume he was just waiting for Tommy to foul his nest and, be fair, he didn’t have to wait long, did he?”

She was speechless for a few moments.

“How come you know so much about it?” she finally asked.

“Vic approached us for help as you know, but between you and me we have no interest. Drugs aren’t our forte, even though he had a good deal to offer, I’ll say that for him. But we fought for a free Ireland; the last thing we want now is a drugged up Ireland. Drugs are already a big problem in Dublin and Belfast and they’re spreading all over the fecking place. Vic picked on the wrong people. He should have known better. We would never let it happen.”

Maura was sobering up rapidly.

“Are you telling me you’re out for Vic as well?”

He nodded, a half-smile on his face.

“My old mother used to say something about weaving webs to deceive. Remember that old potato? Poor old Vic still thinks we’re best buddies from our Belmarsh days. We’ll let him think it a little while longer.”

Maura nodded.

“Are you going to take him out?”

“No. That little job, Maura, is all yours.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“It’s why I’m here. As soon as you knew the score we knew we could leave it in your hands. We can’t be implicated in anything like this, not at this delicate time. Let’s just say that when it’s over, we’ll owe you a big favour, eh?”

She laughed heavily.

“A fucking big favour, you mean.”

Patrick shrugged, and squeezing her feet gently, answered, “Whatever you say.”

“You Irish always like to get someone else to do your dirty work.”

He grinned.

“Of course. The English have been getting others to do theirs for years it was bound to rub off. You don’t have a dog, Maura Ryan, and bark yourself.”

Even she laughed at the droll expression on his face. But he had reminded her of how dangerous his henchmen could be and the thought sobered her. They finished their drinks in silence.

Nellie Joliff was a small woman, under five foot tall and dangerously obese. She looked, as many people had remarked, like Vic in drag. She was an old East Ender and proud of it, used all the old expressions and lived up to the reputation she had garnered as Old Mother Joliff, Mad Vic’s mum.

She had visited him all over the country when he was banged up and had helped younger women come to terms with their plight when a long sentence seemed too much for them to cope with. She was a kind person in her way and was known to help out anyone who needed it. She was also a chatterbox and consequently Vic never told her anything he did not want repeated around the streets and the local pubs.

She was now staying at her sister’s little house in Chigwell and it was killing her. She wanted to go back to Majorca soon, because Vic was on the run again, and she missed all her old cronies and her own little house there. Life with her hard of hearing Bible-bashing sister was getting her down. So when she saw Garry Ryan on the doorstep she smiled a wide smile and thanked God for the diversion he provided.

“Hello, Mrs. Joliff, is Vic around?”

Garry was talking to her with just the right amount of respect and the right tone in his voice. He sounded like a geriatric schoolboy and Nellie Joliff loved it.

“Come on in, love.”

She opened the door wide.

Garry stepped inside, smiling. It was so easy if you knew how to play Vic’s little game. Five minutes later he had a mug of tea in his hand and was being told numerous stories of her son’s new life in Majorca. He was still smiling when he left an hour later, a very happy man.

See how Vic liked his family becoming involved in his shit. It might teach him a valuable lesson.

Benny and Abul brought the heavy package into the house in

Lancaster Road. Sarah made them both tea as they unpacked it in the garden. The package contained four Armalites and they had to stop themselves from dragging them out of the box and playing with them like they had when they were boys and the guns had been pretend.

“Fucking look at them, eh, Abul. What a touch.”

Benny had reverence in his voice and Abul, feeling the same, nodded at him.

“Fucking business or what?”

They giggled together and Sarah watched them from the kitchen window. They reminded her of Michael and Geoffrey. Michael had always been the leader and Geoffrey the natural follower. Benny was like his uncle that way, had to be the top dog, the important one in the relationship.

These two had been friends since boyhood and Sarah knew that they would be friends until they died; she forced herself not to wonder when that would be. Benny was her baby, had always been the apple of her eye, but as she watched him now with Abul she was reminded again what a dangerous little fucker he was. He had had every advantage, unlike her own children, and even the death of his poor mother had not really affected him. Yet Janine had been shot to death on her own doorstep because of her family’s activities and so-called businesses.

It had not changed Benny, nor made him re-evaluate his life. He was a Ryan pure and simple, and she was responsible for them all. She saw that now as clear as day and knew she had to accept them all for what they were. Benny looked up at that moment and caught her eye. He winked at her and smiled and she felt as if the sun had come through a dark cloud. He was like her Michael all right. No matter what he did she would forgive him.

“When we going to do it, Benny?”

He grinned once more.

“Soon as Maura gives the word.”

“What’s happening with all the coke?”

Benny shrugged.

“Who knows? Maura will sort it, Abul. Stop asking fucking stupid questions. Why do you always question me about everything?”

He was having one of his lightning changes of mood and his best mate knew when to leave well alone.

Justin Joliff was fifty years old and he was big. Like his mother he was heavyset and enjoyed his food. Like his brother he was a mean enemy and an even meaner businessman. But he was a coward, had hidden behind Vic all his life and lived in his brother’s shadow and on his reputation. It was Vic who stopped people smacking Justin one, and the worst thing was that Justin himself knew that. This only added to his absolute hatred of everyone and anyone who came near or by him. He was also a womaniser who had trouble getting one woman let alone a string of them, but it didn’t stop him from trying his luck with every sort who walked his way. Even the lap dancers at his favourite club charged him double what they charged anyone else and that was only after they had tried to avoid him, something they did frequently and with as much aplomb as they could considering how they were dressed.

His mum loved him, but not as much as she loved Vic. He knew it, Vic knew it, and their mother Nellie was open about it. All in all Justin was a fucked-up human being with an attitude matched only by Attila the Hun. So when he answered the door to his large villa outside Santa Ponsa he was already scowling. He scowled even harder when a shotgun was shoved into his numerous chins, forcing his head back as far as it would go and straining the muscles.

“Hello, Justin, my old son. Fancy a ride in the boot of the nice man’s car?”

He didn’t answer the man, he couldn’t. He was far too scared.

The two gunmen, brothers who were old mates of Garry’s, were still laughing when they tried to shut the boot, but Justin was too fat.

“What we going to do?”

“Shoot him here?”

“What do you mean, shoot him here? What, on the drive, you mean?”

The men, both dark and feral-looking, were apparently impervious to the fear of the man inside the boot. They talked about him as if he didn’t exist, and this frightened Justin more than anything.

“Why don’t we just go to the villa next door and ask them if we can shoot him on their drive? Don’t be so fucking stupid! What about the noise?”

“Well, what are we going to do then?”

The elder of the two men tapped a finger on his chin as he thought.

“We’ll take him back into the villa and shoot him in the bedroom. If we put pillows over his head we can muffle the sound.”

“OK.” The younger man turned to Justin.

“Get out of the boot, please.”

He couldn’t move for fear.

“What’s with the fucking “please”? Just tell him to get out of the fucking boot.”

“Get out of the fucking boot, fatty, or I’m going to do you here and fuck the neighbours, all right?”

He looked at his brother.

“Menacing enough for you, or shall I burn it into his forehead with a fag?”

Still Justin didn’t move.

“Don’t be sarcastic, bruv. You want to learn the game, right? So do what I tell you.”

Justin listened in absolute terror, unaware that it was all for his benefit, part of their strategy of fear.

The two men dragged him from the boot, manhandling him roughly and swearing at him as they kicked and punched him back inside the house. They searched the place from top to bottom before they finally forced him on to the back seat of their car and drove away with him.

With him now past caring, the two brothers were still arguing as they made their way to Pollensa.

Maura lay on the sofa long after the Irishman had gone. She couldn’t get up the energy to move. Tommy’s betrayal was too much for her to bear. On top of everything else she’d been through, the thought that he’d been using her left her stunned and drained of feeling. She had always prided herself on how she was perceived by other people. In her lifestyle that was important. No one could be seen to mug you off. Now she had to face everyone in the knowledge that they knew he had fucked her niece and lain in her bed while secretly working against her with Vic Joliff.