Whatever it was, it had to do with money. That was the only thing that brought a smile to this woman's face. Other than Lance, of course, but he didn't count.
Chapter Eleven
'No, fuck off. You are having a tin bath, I hope?'
Trevor didn't laugh as he didn't think it was actually expected of him. Pat Brodie's voice was high enough not just to sound surprised, but to also convey major disbelief.
'How much did they skank then?' Patrick was trying to keep his breathing normal and not let his anger get the better of him. When he was like this he was capable of anything and he needed to hear everything that had occurred so he would not go off half-cocked.
'Over a hundred grand and, have a guess what, I had to go and get the money for them. They knew I pay out quick and that is what they were banking on. I had to hand over my hard-earned poke to those fucking eejits without being able to say anything. If I had argued, they would have graved me without a second's thought.'
The fear was still in Trevor's voice and Patrick knew that he was obviously still feeling the terror that only that kind of threat could bring. Death threats were bad enough but when you knew it was not just a threat but a real possibility, it could really fuck up your day. Especially when you also had to undergo open-wallet surgery or the threats would materialise in seconds.
Patrick was itching to make amends; the fact that Trevor was not just a mate but under his protection was well-known. Trevor paid him a decent slice of wedge to make sure he could sit in any game and be safe and secure.
The cards were a hard game for people like Trevor. He was a one-off, a real player; he was the exception to the rule. Somehow, Trevor won more often than he lost. He was a nice bloke as well, a decent guy, in fact. Patrick had always liked him and, more to the point, respected his talent because he knew that only a few people were given such a gift. He had watched Trevor over the years and he could not express in words just how fucking amazing the man was with a deck of cards and a decent pot. But the bottom line was that Trevor was not a fighter. He was not a hard man and he didn't want to be. That was the whole idea of making a few quid, you didn't have to be anything. You bought the safety you required and you got what you paid for. To have Trevor here now, in a terrible state, telling him that he had been fleeced by three baboons and a nancy boy, was so outrageous that Patrick wanted to rip someone's head off just for the hell of it.
'Did you know them? Do you know where they drink? Anything that might tell us who was the brains behind it.'
Trevor nodded. 'The big one I recognised. It took me a while to suss it out but I've seen him with young Dave Williams. He's been in the casino a few times. I think he was nervous of me because I kept staring at him; he was getting right shirty.'
'Dave Williams?'
Patrick just stopped himself from saying, 'My Dave.'
Trevor nodded. 'I'm sure, Pat.'
Pat stood up and looked at Trevor for long moments, his eyes darkening with his growing anger. Then he suddenly said, 'The fucking two-faced cunt.'
Patrick's answer and the way it was delivered was the single most shocking thing that Trevor had ever heard. Patrick Brodie was known as a hard case but no one knew what he was really capable of.
Pat was sensible enough to keep the real villainy out of the mouths of locals. He knew that gossip was what put most people behind bars. Gossip usually had a grain of truth in it and it always amazed him when men discussed their skulduggery in public; it was like asking for a tug from the filth. Being well known was a very good reason to keep your trap shut because everything about you was discussed, exaggerated and believed by everyone around you. It was human nature and the only way to keep safe was to keep quiet.
Patrick had done some bastard things over the years and very few people knew about them. If they were ever discussed and the story made its way back to him, he would be able to pinpoint the culprit in seconds. The only way you could keep on top of the game was to fucking keep stum.
Dave was probably only the fall guy, it was obvious who the big man was. It was Dennis he should be going after. And not before time either. He had warned Dave what would happen if he stepped on his toes again and now it was time to dole out some retribution. He had swallowed because of Dave and the fact that he had always had time for him. Even after the last debacle he had tried not to go over the top.
Well, he was done with being nice and trying to honour a friendship that was well past its sell-by date. He was just about ready to cause serious damage and the recipient was going to be Dennis Williams. He was actually looking forward to it.
Jimmy Brick was a big lad and, like most big lads, he was used to people either trying to fight him or being convinced that he was going to hurt them. Although Jimmy could have a row when necessary, he much preferred not to, if he could avoid one.
Jimmy had a large head that was overlong, his chin was thick and angular and, coupled with his wide-spaced eyes, his protruding, thick eyebrows and his buzz cut, he was often called Frankenstein. Even his mum had mentioned the likeness on more than one occasion. The family joke was that when he had finally emerged from his poor mother, the size of his head, which had caused her such torment, was commented on by all the women helping with the delivery. His granny had apparently taken one look at the boy who had taken nearly forty-eight hours to come into the world and shrieked.
'For Christ's sake, shove the ugly bastard back in!'
The laughter this had always received was not so much hurtful any more, as it was expected. Jimmy was past caring; looks were never going to be his strong point, he had soon sussed that much out. And as he had seen his baby pictures, he was the first to admit that his granny had got a point.
He had been a very ugly child and adolescence had not made him any better. He had appalling acne and, coupled with his protruding brows and his loose bottom lip, he had settled down to a life of tranquillity. Jimmy had been his granny's favourite in the end and she had helped him come to terms with his looks by telling him that he had two choices: to hide away or to learn to accept the stares he got from people and remind himself that they couldn't help it. He was an ugly fucker and nothing was ever going to change that. Harsh as that was, he was glad of her and her common sense; he had learned to live with himself and he was more than aware that many so-called beauties would never achieve that. Good looks, his granny had always told him, were a curse. He had the chance to be loved for himself. No one had loved him yet, but he was confident that once he had cracked it and had a few quid, that would come.
Women were willing to overlook a lot for a nice house and an easy life. He just hoped the kids did not get his big head and cause whoever he married the same pain he had caused his poor mother. She was still going on about it now, all these years later.
Jimmy smiled at the thought. He had a nice easy temperament that stood him in good stead with the people who finally bothered to get to know him properly; his features made him look ferocious and stopped most overtures of friendship in their tracks.
Jimmy Brick was a really nice guy and he knew that better than anyone else. He was happy enough in his way and he enjoyed his life and enjoyed his job. As he often wondered, how many people could say that?
As Jimmy walked into Patrick Brodie's office, he was smiling. Pat grinned at the guy he genuinely liked and who he also felt so very sorry for. He was one ugly bastard and that was being honest.
'All right, mate?'
Patrick nodded and said nonchalantly, 'Sit down, mate. I have a proposition to put to you, Jimmy, me boy, and I want an answer soon as. OK?'