Lisa Callard was tired and as she pulled on her underwear, she was attempting to stifle a yawn. She had a thin body, boyish almost, and her feather-cut hair gave her the look of a very pretty elf. She had small breasts and a tight behind which made most men give her a second glance. She was on the ball enough to put out only for men who could either give her a few quid or enhance her reputation, and as Dennis Williams could do both these things for her, she was more than happy to let him have carte blanche over her adolescent body. At a very young age she had understood the power that youth had over men and she had exploited it ever since. Her mother had wasted too much of her youth and looks on the ponce who had fathered her and Lisa had decided early on that the pill and opening her legs would gain her what her mother had never had: a few quid in her bin, a nice car and peace of mind. That she was also seeing Brixton Cain was not on her mind, though she knew it was part of her charm as far as Dennis was concerned.
Dave and Dennis Williams watched Lisa lazily; she was only a kid really, but she was a game bird for all that. Earlier, Dave had walked into the bedroom and sat down quietly on the small white wicker chair his mother had purchased on the Portobello Road and watched his brother finish his business. As Lisa pulled on her skirt she said hoarsely, 'Am I staying?'
Dennis shook his head, and leaning over the side of the bed picked up his trousers off the floor and took out a small roll of money and gave it to her. Kissing him gently, Lisa grabbed the rest of her clothes and walked from the room. She nearly collided with Doris Williams who had a tray of teas and a plate of biscuits.
'You off, love.' It was statement, not a question.
Doris placed the tray on the small dressing table noisily and her sons watched her with wary eyes.
She looked at Dave then, and her eyes were like ice. 'You got my money?'
Dave sighed. 'Leave it out, Mother. You know the score where that cunt is concerned. Tell him to pay his own fucking debts.'
The words had a finality about them that anyone else would have picked up on but his mother had no intention of letting this go. 'What's a couple of grand to you two?'
She sat on the crumpled bed and, picking up Dennis's pack of cigarettes, she lit one with a slow deliberation that told her sons she was willing to sit this one out for the night. Doris Williams was a fighter, had always been a fighter and would continue to be a fighter. Since her husband's death two years previously, she had gone through a series of men; men her sons saw as either ponces, or right fucking ponces, depending. There was no way anyone was going to take their father's place and she understood and respected that, but now she had been given a taste of freedom and she liked it. Her boys were not going to change that fact.
Her new beau was a gambler ten years her junior with long black hair, sad blue eyes and a cock that was so big it could easily get its own postcode. She had put in her time with her old man and now she was having a bit of fun. Even though her sons knew the life she had been led by their father, they still thought she was too old and too stupid to know her own mind.
'Don't fucking start lecturing me either, I ain't in the mood. I want the poke; it was me as well as him having a flutter and, let's face it, you lot fucking owe me.'
There was truth in that statement. She always spoke in statements somehow, she was a very dramatic woman, much taken to brightly coloured clothes and too tight skirts. In their hearts they knew the truth of it, but she was still their mum when all was said and done, and she was an embarrassment.
'I just want me due, that's all.'
Dennis was covered by the blanket but now he wanted to get up and go to the toilet and his mother sitting on the bed was making that impossible.
'I know everything about you lot and you better remember that, boys. I stood between you and your old man when he was giving you a hiding and took the brunt of it meself. I have provided an alibi for every one of you at some time or another, as I am sure I will in the future, and now I am asking you lot to let me have a bit of life.'
In the harsh light of the naked bulb, Dave could make out the scars around his mother's mouth from his father's fists, the lines around her eyes that they had all helped put there over the years and the thick eye make-up that she had taken to wearing because her husband would have scrubbed it off with a Brillo pad had he still been alive. She was in her second childhood and, in fairness to her, she deserved a bit of excitement. She had been chained to this house all her married life; his father had been a hard man who had been quick with his fists and even quicker with a leather belt. But she was going through money like it was water and they were not actually as well-heeled as everyone seemed to think. They lived well and spent well and even though they earned a decent wedge, the money was going out as fast as it was coming in.
Dave had also made a lot of bad business decisions over the last year and he had lost a small fortune on dope deals that had not come to fruition. The trouble with the puff was that the money was always paid out upfront and if the merchandise was intercepted before it arrived at the correct destination, everyone lost their initial investment. The police had been waiting at the last three drops, two at airfields and one on the Thames estuary. It had been no one's fault, even though that fucking Spider and his brother seemed to produce cannabis out of thin air and his brothers had questioned why they never had a fucking capture of any kind. In his heart he knew that the underlying accusations were not only unfair, but complete rubbish.
Spider had sewn it all up a long time before they had decided to try to get an in themselves. Spider's stuff came straight out of the docks and it was good gear; the stuff they managed to procure was low-grade and had more seeds in it than a packet of Trill. The reality was that they had been had over, not once but many times, and without going to Patrick Brodie and asking him to step in and sort it out, there was not a lot they could do about it.
The realisation that they were only regarded as part of his workforce bothered them more than any of them cared to admit. It seemed that the truth did indeed hurt, and Spider's growing place in Patrick's heart had not only been observed, but acknowledged, by all the powers that be.
Basically, they had been shown up for the motley crew they actually were and without any real poke to spread around they were in danger of going broke.
Dave had lost over two hundred grand in the last ten months, and his brothers had lost a similar amount between them as well. It was a lot of money. Money they didn't have any more and money they were not in a position to replace any time in the near future. They were all boracic lint and they were starting to panic; they owed money all over the Smoke and they knew it was only a matter of time before the creditors started whispering to Patrick.
Bank robbery was on the cards; it was the only earner left to them. The bugbear with that though, was that they would need to run it by Patrick first and give him a taste of whatever they managed to get.
'You'll get your money, Mum, but fucking go easy on it this time, OK?'
Doris nodded, pleased the conversation was over.
'Bacon sandwich, anyone?'
'Here, Annie, I got you a part-time job, love, haunting fucking houses!'
Pat Junior and Lance laughed out loud; their laughter tinged with shock, as always, that their father dared to talk to their granny like that. The girls, happily ensconced in their father's arms, were laughing because everyone else was laughing.
Annie carried on smiling her martyr smile as her son-in-law bellowed, 'Get off your cross, woman, we need the fucking wood!'
Lil smiled too and Pat looked at her for long seconds before saying seriously, 'You all right, girl, need the quack?'
Lil shook her head and Pat looked into her eyes. He worshipped her and lately the thought of her going through another pregnancy worried him. She wasn't right this time and she looked dreadful; even her lovely thick hair looked lank and her face was drawn.