Serious People (13 page)

Billy had seemingly screamed all the way through the attack—so the additional witness statements of the surrounding neighbours had corroborated—but Nick had just watched, not saying a word.

They were hopelessly damaged and John wasn’t. A simple twist of fate had taken John out the house that night and left them there, without their big bother to look after them. He owed them—he owed them for life.

Their Aunt Mary was left to bring them up, and the twisted old bitch’s mothering had only served to focus them on a career of crime. “Try and better yourselves like Charlie O’Neil… He’s a friend of the family you know boys. He’ll make a place at his table for you. We share Irish blood you know…” John could hear the old witch say. 

John wasn’t there that night and that was the only reason why he was relatively normal and they were—what they were. He owed them because of that. He had to get them sorted somehow.

So all he could think about now was focusing and getting his brothers straight after the Robert Payne thing. Maybe, now they had had a bit of time to reflect on the day, he hoped, they’d find themselves a bit shaken up by it? They might well be waiting for some killer to walk through the door of the bar, seeking retribution for the murder of the gangster. They could well be scared that history was about to repeat itself, that they’d die like their Ma in their home. In any case, John knew that he had to somehow sort this out for them, to get them straight. Only then could he focus all his energy on his new job and his new life.

Emma grabbed his knee and turned to him momentarily. “It’s such great news about the job; and you know the best part? Dad wouldn’t be doing this unless he really believed in you,” she grinned.

“I won’t let him down,” John said, smiling back at her.

Just give me a bit of time—I won’t let anyone down
, John thought, looking out the window. 

The powerful headlight beams from O’Neil’s modern E-Type lit up the gated entrance to Robert Payne’s house. They almost made him look, to any onlooker, like he was on stage under the spotlight, as he paced up and down on his mobile phone.

He had been pressing the buzzer for almost ten minutes before giving up and was now having similar success in trying to phone his friend instead. What was grating O’Neil was that the phone was ringing—it wasn’t going straight to answer phone—it was ringing and ringing.

His best friend was the most dependable person he knew, but he did have a weakness, this being women. The lights of the house were all out but he couldn’t eliminate the possibility of Payne being up there with some bird. It was unlike him to be without his phone; but it could have slipped out en route to the bedroom.

With this in his mind, Charlie decided to keep ringing.
Come on, Robert, pick the fucking phone up. How can you be looking after the business if you’re not answering the goddamn phone!

“Do you trust me?” He could hear Robert’s voice say in his head. “You know you can depend on me right?”

Payne had been stood with Charlie, in front of an empty truck yard. It was desolate; had not been used in twenty years. The year was 1990; the country was in recession and, for two cash rich guys like them, the world was their oyster.

“We could pick this up for peanuts.”

Charlie looked at Robert, waiting for a smile, a sign that his friend was simply joking. He looked around again; what was he missing? The place was a hole. The only thing Charlie could see of any value in the empty yard was a small building at its centre. It seemed to house some kind of office and was big enough to have a few other rooms as well.

“What, I really don’t get it? What am I looking at?”

“That, my friend, is our new business,” Robert smiled.

“I thought we agreed we were heading to South America? Get set up over there. You said we’d be untouchable—no law to look over our shoulders—good weather...”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking again. We’re untouchable over here; we’re clever; how much we got in our pockets? We got money, Charlie, proper money. Now’s the time to speculate.”

“I’m not sure mate,” Charlie shrugged.

“We’re going into the logistics business. We buy this place for nothing, well good as. We’re going legal.”

O’Neil looked around again at the yard and scowled.

“Right now, people with money can do shit, a lot of shit. Let me show you something,” Payne said, taking something from his jacket.

In one motion, Payne chucked something towards him. Charlie O’Neil instinctively caught it and looked at the tube of toothpaste that was now in his hands.

“I even got us our first contract—the Palmolive Toothpaste company. They’re looking to get into the UK. I said we’re the businessmen to help them.”

A smile started to appear on O’Neil’s face; he wasn’t sure what he had in his hands but he was sure it wasn’t toothpaste.

“This is going to be proper money? Even more than we already have?” O’Neil asked.

“The money I’m talking about, we ain’t near made yet—nothing like it. That toothpaste tube’s full of cocaine paste. Open it up, it looks just like toothpaste. We mix ten per cent of every toothpaste pack we import in as pure cocaine paste and bang! We’re bringing in a shit load of coke! Let me tell you Palmolive’s got big plans we’re going to be importing a lot of this toothpaste.”

“That will be a few grams,” O’Neil said, trying to weigh the tube of toothpaste.

“Fuck that, that’s a few fucking kilos of coke,” Robert smiled. “And that ain’t the best bit. We get ourselves a few facilities to burn that shit up—cut it up a bit—and you’re talking a fuck load of coke. We’re talking millions.”

O’Neil looked around the yard. Yeah this could work, he thought. He could see his and Payne’s name emblazoned on a few trucks; yeah he liked the look of that.

“We’re a partnership, Charlie, like always,” Robert continued. “I sort the business—you know I can make this work—but you know your part.”

“You want me to play King of London.”

“Fuck London, this thing will make us the biggest importers in fucking Europe. I’m gonna need you to be the fucking King of the world! And
I can
make the business bit work. Maybe in a couple of years, the Palmolive Toothpaste company goes bust after to trying to make it in the UK. Then a couple of months later, I got a feeling an adhesive company might spring up in good old Mexico with similarly ambitious plans.”

O’Neil smiled. Robert had the plan—just like he had the plan for the banks—this was going to work. This was going to make them money, millionaire type money.

“But for this to work, you need to fucking own London, Charlie… every fucking club, every door, every place we put your name, even if it makes us no money. We need to be seen as owning everyone… no one moves without us letting them.”

“I reckon I got that already.”

“You need more. For this to work, we have to own everyone.”

“I’ll play my part; I still got the hardware. I can raise an army on the streets.”

“I know you can mate; every small time hood wants to work for you. We gotta harness that.”

“Leave the blood to me, Robert. I’ll make the fucking Devil fear my knock on the door.”

And he did. Charlie and his firm had brought every big crew in London to their knees. It was simple. He had the budget to hire any gang worth recruiting in London; he had the money to have more firearms than any of the competition. So he brought the world to heel. It was easy; he knew the rules. Be the most violent, terrify people on the street.

He wasn’t proud of what he’d done—but it was business, it was his part of the business. Robert was the accountant, who always had a new plan, and he was the Devil making sure everyone knew not to fuck with the devil.

“You got me, you’re right,” Charlie smiled at Robert. “You’re the most dependable person I fucking know.”

The memory of his words echoed around Charlie’s head as he stood staring at Payne’s house—as he listened to the endless chiming of his phone, still waiting for his friend to answer.

Where the hell are you Robert?

Ronny Wild didn’t mind early mornings. It was, in his opinion, a rock n’ roll myth that rock stars got out of bed at midnight and lived a sub-vampire lifestyle. 

He did, of course, concede that he enjoyed getting up after eleven o’clock—on some days. And if someone was to draw up an average of the hour at which he had risen over the last twenty years or so, it would certainly have been later than ten o’clock. It was with this in his mind he couldn’t help but grimace when he looked across at the clock on the wall that displayed the time of six in the morning.

Anything for the fans, he said to himself. God only knows how many of his fans had set their alarm early to hear his voice and what he had to say that morning; and it was for them more than for his own benefit he was getting up so early. Ronny began to wonder how much the normal audience figures would be lifted by his guest appearance this morning. On an ordinary day, he thought, who on earth would be awake, let alone listening at this time in the morning. I'll probably triple the audience by appearing on the show this morning, he thought. I should be giving Max a call and get triple my appearance fee.

Wild had been booked, by Fame, onto the breakfast show of the internet radio station
Get Rocked Music
. He had never heard of the station but, then again, these new radio stations seemed to appear every other day. His main fear was whether he actually was going to see any dime off his appearance fee himself, after it had passed through Fame’s office.

This in turn led him to wonder how much he was actually getting paid for this outing. Though he didn’t know much about the radio business he did wonder how the place he was currently sat in could really have that many listeners. He had thought it was pretty small, as he first walked in; it was just based on one floor of an office block in the middle of Birmingham. Though he didn’t know Birmingham well, he did get the impression that this couldn’t be the good part of town.

It reminded him of one of those retro pirate stations from the eighties, as he looked at the walls, which were covered in peeling wallpaper. There were some strategically placed posters holding up bits of particularly loose parts. These type of places generally meant cutting edge reputations, cult audience followings. Real music—this was why he had been invited.

He looked around at the various bands and performers depicted in the poster; there was a good range of past and, Ronny assumed, upcoming groups. None of him, which was quite rude, he thought. But then, maybe they hadn’t known too far in advance that I was coming.

A young woman, wrapped in a big duffel coat and woolly hat, approached Wild. She smiled as their eyes met. Obviously a fan, Wild thought to himself.

“Morning, can I get you a coffee or something?” the young woman said, still smiling warmly.

She couldn’t help herself, Wild thought. She probably doesn’t even realise the coffee shops won’t be open yet; but you can’t blame her for trying her luck. Any chance to get near to Ronny Wild.

“No I’m ok thanks, no offence,” Wild said, giving his best sympathetic face.

“No problem buddy, I was just making one,” The young woman said as she walked away.

“Sure you were,” Wild replied quietly.

Making one! He admired how the young woman had tried to play down her offer—to go out and fetch him a Starbucks or something—by suggesting she was just going to make a rock star some instant. The interest from the fairer sex never gets boring though.

Wild looked at his watch; it was getting closer to his time slot. I wonder if they’ll want me to sing a few tunes?

As he was pondering this thought, the young woman approached him again carrying a clipboard. Now she wants an autograph. Ten out of ten for trying, he thought.

The young woman sat down next to Wild. “Hi my name’s Cazza and…”

Wild cut Cazza short and grabbed the clipboard. “Is it just to you Cazza, or maybe the whole family?”

The young woman looked confused, “Sorry?”

“The autograph?”

Cazza looked more concerned than confused. “Can I have my clipboard back now?”

“What?”

Now Wild looked confused.

“It’s got today’s schedule on it,” Cazza said, taking the clipboard bad firmly. “I was just coming over to see if you were Ronny Wild? Well I suppose make sure. But there-again, who else would be sat here at this time in the morning!”

“Ah nicely done, good comeback,” Wild said, playfully punching Cazza on the shoulder. “You were obviously embarrassed when I didn’t want to get a coffee with you. Great comeback,” Wild said sympathetically.

“Go for a coffee with you?” Cazza said, looking confused once more.

“It’s all right I’ll play along,” Wild said, winking at the young lady.

“Yes I’m Ronny Wild,” he added nonchalantly. “The famous rock star.”

“OK. When the light bulb up there,” Amber said, pointing to a large light bulb above them, “when it flashes amber… step into the studio and the DJ will help you set up.”

Before Wild could answer, Cazza hurried away.

I’ll never get used to the broken hearts, Wild thought bitterly to himself. It's not even like he did it on purpose; he wouldn’t want to shun anyone and he definitely didn’t deserve the shitty attitudes it sometimes created.

Eventually, the light outside the studio flashed and Wild strode in. The DJ had just started a track and was free to help Wild put on a headset. In contrast to the area outside the studio, it was a large well equipped place; right now Wild could have been sat in one of the Radio One studios and he’d know no difference. He started to feel more optimistic about being there and, in particular, about his potential fee.

“Hey nice to meet you man, my name’s Ed Hardman,” the DJ said, offering his hand.

Wild shook his hand. “Nice to meet you Ed.”

“It’s cool you’ve decided to come on the show,” Ed said, pressing a range of switches on the board of dials in front of him. “You’d be surprised by how many people won’t go near us and just don’t get it, you know?”

“No I get it man; this whole small pirate radio show. It’s a niche part of the music industry,” Wild replied, hoping to display his knowledge of radio.

“Pirate? I’ve never heard us described like that before?” Ed said thoughtfully. “But, I suppose I can see that; some people don’t like us for sure and pirate is probably one of the nicer things they say.”

“Sorry, it’s a bit old school, I suppose,” Wild added, showing off his best street language.

“OK man, I'd better get back on, this track’s almost over,” Ed said slowly fading out the track that was playing.

Wild grabbed Ed’s hand. “You’ll be fine Ed. I've done this a hundred times. I’ll get you thought this.”

Ed looked down at Wild’s hand on his, feeling totally uncomfortable, so much so he missed his cue in from the end of the track. Wild gave him a nod and mouthed: “You can do this Ed, just pretend I’m not here.”

Ed pulled his hand from Wild’s, shook his head and refocused. “Good morning listeners. You're tuned in to Get Rocked! And you’re with the Hardman’s breakfast show."

Ed tried to ignore Wild mouthing to him: “You’re doing fine, keep it up.”

“And this morning we have Ronny Wild with us; yeah that’s right he’s not dead!” Ed said, finding his rhythm again.

“Dead? Alive and kicking more like!” Wild said, butting in.

Ed scowled back at Wild for the interruption. “Sorry,” Wild mouthed. 

Ed seemed annoyed by this? Ronny tried to not get annoyed himself. He was only trying to help the kid out. It was understandable the DJ would have nerves about sitting next to Ronny Wild; he was merely helping him out a bit. 

“Good morning Ronny, thanks for coming on today,” Ed said.

“Anything for the fans Ed, you know. Good morning to all you Wild Riders out there!” Wild shouted into his mic.

Ed contorted with pain at the volume of Wild’s loud voice coming through his headphones.

“Do you want me to sing a quick number?” Wild asked. “You know a quick one for the fans?”

“No, I don’t think so Ronny,” Ed said.

“Of course you’ve got your own playlist that you need to get through,” Wild said, giving Ed a knowing grin. “Don’t worry kids, I’m sure he’s got a few Ronny Wild numbers for you.”

“I’m sure I don’t.” Ed snapped.

“What?” Wild said, suddenly hurt.

“We’re going to take a quick break for a word from our sponsors,” Ed said. Then, as he faded in the tape of ads, he turned to Wild. “Look Ronny, let’s start again, I’ve got a show to do here.”

“I just want you to feel comfortable Eddie,” Wild said, trying his most soothing tone.

Ed glared at Wild, as the ads faded back.
What was this guy’s problem?
It was Ronny who supposedly wasn’t used to being up at this time in the morning; anyone would think it was this guy who was the novice.

“Today I’m with the huge rock star; Ronny Wild,” Ed said.

If Ronny didn’t know better he might think the DJ’s words were laced with sarcasm; it was weird, it must be the nerves. This guy must be new to this? Wild winked at the DJ, giving him the thumbs up.

“So what have you been up to recently?" Ed asked.

“Apart from the last album?” Ronny smiled.

“Well, I imagined you’ve been trying to put that behind you now?”

“Hardly,” Wild said. “Who’d want to put a European number one behind them?”

“I heard HMV are still stocking it, so they can use it to hold their shelves up?” Ed replied.

Well that was borderline rude? Ronny thought, but decided roll with the young DJ’s strange idea of humour.

“If they were using them to hold up the shelves Ed, they’d struggle to keep them on the wall… the way they must be racing out the door,” Wild replied.

“Ronny seriously, I think the real question the listeners will be wondering is… How do you come back from a flop like that?” Ed said.

“Flop?”

Wild was completely lost for words

“Flop,” Ed nodded.

“European number one,” Ronny replied.

“Really, where?” Ed questioned.

Wild thought for a moment, before answering. For some reason this did not feel like it was going well.

“The continent,” he replied.

“But you have been released from your label now. So what’s next?” Ed continued to take the offensive.

Wild was taken aback by the question. “Released? Left? It’s always fifty, fifty these things…”

“And you’ve also been ditched by your manager?” Ed added, with an elfish type grin on his face. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

“It is true. I'm heading in a new direction right now…”

“But is there any way back for you?” Ed inquired.

“Back from a European number one, I hope not,” Wild snapped.

Wild’s temper was about to break. What the hell was going on with all this sarcastic crap and poisonous questions?

Ed reached for a switch. “OK, well it’s beginning to heat up in here, so I think we’ll take a quick break. Now for a tune from someone who is still happening this century; here’s a quick clip from Enter Shikari, with their new single!”

“What the fuck was all that about?” Wild said, ripping off his headset.

“Sorry, what do you mean?” Ed replied innocently.

“All this shit about; is there anyway back for me?” Wild said, more hurt than angry. “My fans will be listening to this; some of them will have gotten up especially early just to hear from me!”

Ed shrugged, “Ronny. You're on the Hardman’s breakfast show, everything’s fair game.”

“Is there any bloody way back? I haven’t gone anywhere,” Ronny said to himself. And he spent the next few moments staring into thin air, trying to understand what had just been said and how he could have replied in a better manner.

“Ronny, get your mic back on, we’re coming back online,” Ed instructed.
”Oh I’m coming back online alright, you arse wipe,” Wild muttered to himself.

Ed spoke into his mic. “Wow! Ronny’s just said to me—he was pleased to hear what rock music in the twenty-first century sounds like…”

“No I didn’t listeners. That's a blatant lie,” Wild countered quickly.

“He did listeners. I think poor old Ron here struggles to talk about his feelings—and maybe this old rock dog’s memory’s going a bit!” Ed continued.

“Well listeners, I don’t really know how I feel about the fact Ed here just told me he was gay,” Wild said making a viscous smile back at the DJ.

The DJ stared back at the rock star in disbelief. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay Ronny. But I am heterosexual.” 

“Spoken like a true bum bandit with cum on their breath, I think you’d agree listeners,” Wild said. Now he had the wicked smile on face.

Ed looked shocked, “Excuse me.”

“I couldn’t excuse that breath mate!” Wild retorted, feeling proud of himself.

Ed seemed to take a large breath before speaking; the young DJ was on the ropes but Ronny had no pity for him. Don’t go toe to toe with your main attraction. God only knows how many listeners this station would have just lost due to the rude way in which the DJ had treated a rock legend.