It took him, Bernie and Dave five minutes to get Dennis inside, on account of the fact that there were three girls outside with schoolie written all over them, wearing skirts shorter than a traffic warden's attention span.
'Come on darlings, show us your tits.'
The girls were scandalised and thrilled at the same time but they were also relieved when the other men finally dragged Dennis into the pub.
The brothers made their way to the back room, acknowledging people as they went. Dave looked around him as he half-carried, half-dragged Dennis to safety. The place was packed as always, and most of the clientele were mates or associates. He knew that not much money would go over the bar; they had made a big fuck up on the Grand Opening night when they had let people have a drink on the house. It was expected now, they could never ask for payment and they were finding it hard to make ends meet. Even robbing the Cash and Carry was out of the question because they were supposed to be above all that petty fucking shit.
He only hoped that his meeting with Patrick later on in the evening would bring about a solution to their problems. They had spunked money up the wall left, right and centre and now there was hardly any left. They worked for Patrick Brodie and no matter how much his brothers tried to talk him into retaliation, Dave had to remember that Patrick Brodie was a bad man to fuck with. Maybe he should come clean, tell him the truth of their situation; it was no shame to lose your money where the grass was concerned. Lily Law were always in the running to get to it first and it was a chance everyone took: you weighed out knowing you would either make a real profit on your investment or lose the fucking lot. This was not, after all, legitimate business. Still, they had lost more than most and it was embarrassing to have to go to the man they depended on for their daily bread and admit that they had fucked up so phenomenally. Like Spider and his cronies, Pat was coining it in; they were like the Keystone Cops in comparison, and it was this that was causing all the bad feeling.
They were amateurs and any kudos they possessed was because Patrick Brodie was their ganger. It had been a harsh lesson for them and, as usual, he now had to try to sort it all out without any help from his brothers whatsoever.
Dennis was sitting slumped in the chair by the doorway, Bernie next to him, and little Ricky had brought them all drinks from the bar. As they sat and chatted, Dennis finally sobered up enough to make relative sense; he was still off his face but the pills he had been given by Ricky seemed to be doing the job. He was now speeding out of his nut, the blue ones he had necked were making him dry-mouthed and paranoid, not a good idea for Dennis at any time. He was a violent man by nature, and with alcohol and narcotics in his system, he was not easily controllable.
As they waited for the others to arrive, Dennis heard the loud voice of their cousin, Vincent Williams. Vince and Dennis had been rivals since boys; of a similar build and with strikingly similar looks, they had been natural antagonists.
Now Vince was buying into the doll business with Brodie and Spider, the relationship had soured even more. Dennis saw him as a traitor. He couldn't see that it suited Vince to make a few quid with guaranteed protection, he just saw his cousin raking it in and, worse than that, spending it wisely. There was a family joke that Vince was so tight even the Queen came to the opening of his wallet, but that was not really the case. Vince wasn't tight, he was simply a shrewdie. He didn't countenance hangers-on and he saw no reason to spend money unless it was to make more money. Dave and the others loved him but Dennis had always had a problem with him and the feeling was, unfortunately, mutual.
If it came to an out-and-out tumble, everyone's money was on Vince. Vince drank moderately and resisted drugs. He had two lovely kids, a wife with an arse to die for and a nice mock-Tudor house in Essex. Vince had made his fortune on the horses; as a professional gambler he had books all over the place and he offered a point or two more than the legal bookies. He had a big clientele who had money they wanted to spend without too many questions asked about where it had come from.
Vince also paid for his drinks, never expecting anything for nothing, even from his family. He was hailing everyone with his usual camaraderie when Dennis shot out of the back room and attacked him with a length of metal pipe he always carried with him, for what he jokingly called emergencies.
As Vince went down, Dave and Ricky grabbed Dennis and dragged him off. The place was suddenly quiet and Dave looked around at the faces of his regulars: ponces and hangers-on, all drinking for free and waiting with bated breath and eyes alight with excitement for the cabaret to start. There wasn't one real mate in the whole place and even his brother didn't have enough loyalty to wish one of his own well or toast their success and good fortune.
Dave had learned nothing from his years with Patrick Brodie but it was as if someone had turned a light on in his brain. He was suddenly seeing himself and what he had achieved with a stunning clarity that was as enlightening as it was terrifying. A room full of no-necks and empty pockets did not augur well for his peace of mind or his brothers' safety. The tatty furnishings, the over-the-hill barmaids and the fug of cigarette smoke showed him the reality of what he had allowed to happen to what had once been a promising young life.
Vince was kneeling up on one knee, his head was bleeding profusely and his arm was groping about for the bar so he could hoist himself upright. He was obviously concussed and Dave felt the anger rising up inside him. He picked up the metal pipe from the floor where Dennis had dropped it and laid into his brother with all the strength he possessed. No one attempted to stop him, not even Ricky, and that spoke volumes as far as Dave was concerned.
Chapter Eight
'You nearly killed your own brother.' Dave was still covered in his brother's blood and as he listened to Patrick's shocked voice, he could smell his own sweat and vomit; it made him start to heave. Patrick stepped away from him quickly, expecting him to spew up again at any moment.
Patrick looked at the man before him and despaired of what he had been reduced to. In me years he had known Dave, he had watched as the promise he had seen in the beginning had been proved to be nothing more than youthful ambition. He had not cut it in the real world and though it had never been said out loud, it had been there between them for a long time.
He had had a lot of time for Dave and he cared about him, but he had passed him over many times because he had not had any faith left in him. Patrick had tried to help him, tried to give him advice, but it was like talking to a brick wall. With Dave, all the lights were on but no one actually seemed to live there a lot of the time. He didn't have the staying power you needed to keep moody businesses on the boil. He was a chancer by nature, like them all. Dave would be better off as a blagger; a quick fix, a good wedge. 'You all right, son?' Patrick's voice was sad and he was sorry that it had come to this.
He was also relieved that the struggle between the Williams brothers and Spider's graft had not had to be resolved by him. He liked this boy and he liked his brothers; they were useful if not indispensable. They had a history together and that meant a lot to him. He knew it was Dennis who was the driving force for most of the aggravation the family encountered and he also knew that Vince Williams, being a decent bloke, would not exact any kind of retribution. At least, he wouldn't once Pat had talked to him. This was an unfortunate turn of events and the best way to deal with it was to settle it sooner rather than later. This meet they were supposed to have had with Dave was not exactly what he had had in mind, but if it kept a turf war at bay then it could only be a good thing.