Jimmy nodded and, as he sat down, Patrick saw the way he hitched his trouser legs up so as not to crease them too much; he was so fastidious in his dress that it was almost sad to watch him. As Lil had once pointed out, Jimmy looked like the Missing Link. At the time, Pat had laughed, but the more he looked at the lad, the more he saw what she meant. Jimmy Brick was like a huge ape stuffed into an expensive suit. He was a lovely bloke, a decent bloke, but he was disturbing to look at for any length of time.
'What can I do for you, Mr Brodie?' The voice was rich and deep, the only asset Jimmy possessed.
Patrick loved the way Jimmy always addressed him by his full title when work was being discussed. It was another of the things he liked about Jimmy Brick. He knew that Jimmy separated his work from his real life, which was something he did as well. It was a necessity in their game.
'Jimmy, mate, I want to offer you an in, a real in. Good money and a lot of hard work. What do you say?'
Patrick was pleased to see the boy blush with pleasure and he was more certain than ever that he had chosen the right candidate for the job.
Jimmy held open his arms but he was having difficulty in finding the words he needed to accept the position. His face, though, spoke volumes.
Patrick poured them both large Scotches and, placing the cut-glass tumbler in Jimmy's hand, he said happily, 'To many years, mate.'
Jimmy clinked his glass with gusto, nearly shattering them both, and reminding them of his extraordinary strength. He said shyly, 'I am absolutely over the moon, Mr Brodie. It is an honour to be allowed to work with a person such as yourself.'
It was flowery, it was cheesy, but it was from the heart. Patrick Brodie shook his head and, laughing, he said sotto voce, 'Enough of that poof talk. Anyone hears us and they might think we're a couple of shit-stabbers!'
Jimmy Brick laughed out loud then; his head was thrown back and the laugh was loud and expressive. Patrick decided he liked the sound of it. Jimmy was going to be an asset, he was sure of that.
'We have our first assignment tonight, mate. We are going to give Dennis Williams the fright of his fucking life.'
Patrick saw that Jimmy was pleased about that and wondered if anyone, anywhere, had ever actually liked Dennis Williams.
'Shall I get me tool kit?'
Patrick grinned then and said happily, 'What do you think?'
For all his big talk, Dennis Williams was not expecting Patrick Brodie to come looking for him personally. It was something he had not allowed for at any point, or even thought was a possibility. Consequently, when Patrick Brodie swooped on him and his brothers on their territory, in their own local, he was nonplussed, to say the least.
Patrick had crashed through the heavy wooden doors of the Mill House in Dagenham like an avenging angel. It was a Saturday night so it was packed out with families. Children ran around in their best clothes playing kiss-chase and waiting for the band to play 'Pennies from Heaven'. This was the highlight of their evening, when the adults would throw their change on to the dance floor and the kids would scramble round collecting as much money as they could. Then the disco would commence and the lights would be dimmed and the parents would feel like they were out for the night at last, as the kids went outside where there was bright light and other kids' chatter to interest them.
The Mill House was a real social club. It had the atmosphere that guaranteed a good night out for families and couples alike. It was shabby in the light of day but, come the evening, it took on a magic all of its own. It smelt of crisps, stale beer and a multitude of different perfumes. The tables shone with polish and huge tin ashtrays bore legends such as Marlboro Reds or Senior Service. The floor was wooden and scuffed but so shiny the children could start their night off by sliding from one end of it to the other until they would eventually be told off by an adult. The boys would swagger away like little hard men and go outside into the evening air where they could swagger some more and swear their heads off to impress the girls. It was the beginning of the mating ritual, the first lesson in making a girl notice you and respect you. It was a timeless dance that had been enacted by their parents and grandparents before them. They learned to court while drinking Tizer and playing kiss-chase. Fingers would explore and hands would be allowed liberties and everyone was hot and flushed with this new knowledge that they had acquired.
It was a real family club, not really the kind of setting the Williams boys wanted and not the kind of place where the regulars wanted to see the numerous Williams brothers. Now, though, Dave Williams and his brothers used the Mill House as their base, mainly because they were not sure if they were really welcome in any of the pubs they had frequented for years.
The Williams boys were used to the Mill House now and they were pleased to discover that they were the only real Faces who used the place. They were at first an anomaly and, for the most part, their foray into a local club house had been treated with a certain degree of excitement, until, that is, the novelty had worn off. Seeing the Williams brothers now and again was one thing. Having them there all the time, using the place as their office, was now starting to irritate a lot of the regulars. They were all right, but dangerous. The committee members, older men with families and jobs, were unable to stop the Williams lot from wheeling and dealing as and when they wanted to, yet they were desperate to put an end to the trade that seemed to bring in a lot of unsavoury characters. The big fear, of course, was that the place would be raided and closed down by the police. No one had the nerve to discuss the worries of the family men and the fear for their kids with the Williams family because they were not, what was commonly known as approachable, if the subject touched on them or their businesses in a derogatory way. In fact, they were distinctly cold and menacing. Dennis in particular, who, with his scarred face and head and his broken-toothed grin, could frighten a banshee, let alone anyone else. Dennis was a hard man and he didn't try to hide it. He revelled in his notoriety and it was this that was such a worry to most people. He was vicious when viciousness wasn't warranted or indeed needed.
Being a Face was all Dave wanted from life, all he had ever wanted. A Face was a Face was a Face, as old man Williams would say to them as kids. He had loved Faces, he basked in their reflected glory and lived for the glamour he tried to share in. Now they were Faces in their own right and they were well-known enough to be able to deal their drugs here and share their glamour with a few of the local bully-boys who, like their father before them, would talk about them with hushed tones and respect.
It was a long way from when he was Brodie's main boy and Dave had eventually come to terms with that; at least he let his brothers think so. He knew that Dennis was living on borrowed time. He had hoped that he could keep him away from Patrick and Spider long enough for them to calm down a bit. Maybe even give Dennis another chance. Dave sighed. He was on the powder again and he knew that it was only the speed making him believe that Dennis could walk away from all the shit he had created. He was going to have to answer for his stupidity at some point and the burning question was, when? They couldn't hide away here for ever. He was in such a high state that he was actually getting the rushes again and everything was suddenly so real and bright he felt the urge to start dancing.
Dave went into the toilet and cut himself another line. If only they sold this stuff to the punters they would be rocking with him. They didn't though. It was cut to fuck by the time they sold it off. But it was a good buzz whatever and, as he snorted the amphetamine, he felt the burn inside his nose that told him it had been cut with strychnine at some point. Dave grinned and said to his reflection, 'Bring back glucose, all is forgiven.'