Dave was laughing like a hyena at his own joke and he folded his wrap up carefully before going back out to the club. As he shuffled out of the toilet and went back into the club, the noise hit him like a wall and he winced in pain. He saw a couple of his dealers at the bar and sighed.
They were now responsible for any dope that shot out of the Anglers, the old man's pub opposite the Mill House, and a few other little pubs around and about that Patrick and Spider wouldn't be interested in. The Volunteer pub on the Barking and Dagenham roundabout was where they should be dealing, it was always kicking. The club there was called Flanagan's Speakeasy and it was packed to capacity almost every night. But Spicier had that one sewn up so they let it go.
Dave started chatting up a young girl with badly permed black hair, glitter on her cheekbones and a bright yellow satin jacket that didn't cover her huge breasts. He knew, without asking her, that she was into Marc Bolan. Well, she could be into the fucking Beam River if she wanted to. All he cared about was a fuck. Although whether he was capable of any kind of hard-on, he wasn't sure. It was worth a try though.
Dave was rocking, speeding out of his nut. He knew she was a little schoolgirl dressed up for her night out and that her father was probably watching them with fear in his heart and no way to protect his child. Dave was past caring these days. He was a nervous wreck; he just seemed to be waiting for the balloon to go up. He was burdened with the guilt of nearly killing his brother; the realisation that he was capable of nearly murdering his own flesh and blood had been a revelation. The fact that he had enjoyed it, was sorry he had not finished the job, was what was making him so uneasy. Dennis was his brother and he loved him. Unfortunately, he was also a vain, temperamental and violent lunatic who would always bring trouble to their door. Dennis couldn't even help it, he just attracted trouble. In all honesty, a lot of the time he caused it, mainly because he loved the adrenaline rush it brought him. And the attention, he loved to be the centre of attention, always for the wrong reasons. Dave loved his brother but hated him with a vengeance for all the trouble he had brought to his doorstep. Because it was always left to him to clear up the mess, he was always the fall guy. And now they had no real income any more, no security, because Patrick Brodie had aimed them out of it and so he should. Patrick had given him the opportunity to come back, but how could he? Dennis wouldn't last five minutes on his own, and as for his other brothers, he had seen more brains on a butcher's floor. Dennis was a fucking liability and that was something that would never change.
As Patrick and his boys crashed through the doors and into the club, Dave almost felt relieved that this was finally happening and would soon be over.
Dennis was so surprised that he just stood there open-mouthed and looking, as more than one person noted, gormless.
Patrick looked at Dennis with a frown and then he said with deep disgust and an underlying menace that was evident to everyone around them, 'You had to be expecting me, Dennis, so what's with the fucking shocked face? Surely you didn't think I had forgotten about you?'
Patrick Brodie was talking to him and worse, was treating him, like he was a nothing, a no-neck, the shit on his shoes and Dennis knew that only a madman would be fool enough to try to salvage what was left of their reputation by answering him back. He was expected to swallow his knob and he knew that anyone with half a brain would shut the fuck up, but was not sure how much brain he actually had left.
The people around the bar were thrilled to see Patrick Brodie in their little club; they were also secretly hoping that he might knock Dennis Williams on to his arse. The general consensus was that he was a big-mouthed toss-pot, though no one would say that to his face of course. Dennis was under the mistaken impression that he was popular. Faces were, for the most part, Diamond Geezers; nice blokes who were approachable and friendly and who didn't feel the need to be a hard man twenty-four-seven. Whereas the Dennis Williamses of the world, although they might be afforded the same courtesy as other Faces, were not liked enough to command either loyalty or respect from anyone around them. At least not when there was a real, bona fide Face making them look like they were a fool. A plastic gangster was a term that had recently come into common usage and it now seemed a fitting description for Dennis Williams.
Dave went to Patrick and tried to salvage at least a shred of the friendship they had shared for so long. 'Not in here, Pat, eh?'
Patrick almost sneered at his one-time friend. His thick dark hair was almost blue in the disco lights and his eyes were like slits as he looked Dave up and down with obvious distaste.
'I want my fucking money and I want it now.'
Dave screwed his handsome face up into a frown of confused wonderment. It was a face that Patrick had seen him pull once too often in the past when they were questioning someone and not getting the answers they required.
'What is he on about, Den?'
Patrick was not surprised that Dave took his word over his brother's; if Dennis Williams was asked what he had for breakfast he would add a sausage. Lying came so easily to him that he couldn't distinguish between the truth and his fannying any more.
'Dennis, please.'
The music had stopped and everyone was watching them closely. Patrick flicked his head at Dennis and Jimmy Brick walked over to him and, with a pretence of friendliness, he ushered him out of the club and into a waiting car. Dennis was like a little lamb. He knew when he was beaten and he was not going to cause himself any more pain than necessary.
Patrick walked out then, followed by his other two minders and Dave. He turned at the doorway and said, 'Go back, Dave. This is going to be fucking seriously painful and before you get all fucking nostalgic for your brother, remember this: he had a hundred grand off my mate earlier today and that was the straw that broke this fucking cunt's back, all right?' He was not sure why he was justifying hammering Dennis Williams, but he heard himself doing it anyway. He respected and liked Dave so he didn't want to give him false hopes or any lies.
'Don't kill him, Pat, please. Me mum would go off her head.' Patrick laughed then. 'Your mum is so far off her fucking head, even Ozzy Osbourne talks sense in comparison to her. Now fuck off and leave me to sort this out once and for all.'
As Patrick got into the car with Dennis and Jimmy, Dave heard him saying quietly and authoritatively, 'Look, Den, my old nan used to say there are two tragedies in life. One is not getting what you want and the other is getting it. You are getting what you have been asking for, Dennis, and you are not getting what you want. Deal with it and fucking stop eyeballing me, you fucking ugly cunt.'
Dennis was shaking with fear. Jimmy Brick was a torturer who was known to have no empathy with his victims and he was capable of inflicting horrific injuries without any kind of remorse at all. He had stripped a man of all the skin on his leg just to find out if he had slept with a known associate's wife. The guy was banged up and had heard a whisper; he had appealed to Jimmy to find out the truth of it so he could put his mind at rest. Jimmy had taken the man's skin off in long strips and when he had found out what he wanted, he had dumped the guy in a wheelie bin minus his skin, his ears and his scrotum. The worst thing of all though, was that he had done that for a favour, not even for remuneration or to get a rep. It had been done as a favour, that's all.
Now, Dennis saw Jimmy staring at his scars and he knew, without a second's doubt, that he was already working out the best way to go about his night's work. He would open a few of the scars for maximum pain and add a few more for good measure.
Dennis suddenly felt the cold hand of fear that comes to all violent people. They were always the biggest cowards when it was their turn to play and Dennis Williams was already crying silently before they had even turned out of the car park and on to the A13. Dave stood in the doorway of the Mill House and watched the car until the tail-lights disappeared into the distance.