Spider shrugged. That was exactly what he had been thinking but, until he knew the score for sure, he was keeping his own counsel. Jimmy was sound as a pound normally, but until he knew who he was pinning his colours to, he would make a point of being non-committal. It was how you kept alive in their game and Spider was going to stay around for the long-term, even if it killed him. Careless talk cost lives and this could easily turn into a war with no one involved in it really sure of whose side they should be on.
This was a melon scratcher all right and as his brother's death was still raw and the Williams brothers doing the star turns in this little drama, he knew he would have to box clever for the next few weeks. He was going to be shrewd and add to his crew, his all-black crew and, if nothing else, he was going to keep his businesses in south London and add to them as and when the opportunities arose. Spider knew that anything he had with Patrick was going to be taken away from him. This was what Pat's death was about. Gathering turf, taking what was Patrick's and using a scapegoat like Ricky to further their ends. The perpetrator of this heinous act was using the Williams brothers as a blind so they could then harvest whatever they wanted.
Spider was on his own and Cain's death still hung over him like the Sword of Damocles. He was in a very precarious position; Cain had been in bed with the Williams brothers and that would not be forgotten. Now Spider needed to see what was going to happen to the business interests he had with Patrick. Nothing was ever on paper, nothing was ever straight and he knew that a lot of his private earners would now be up for grabs and there was nothing he could do about it. A lot of Pat's clubs had silent partners, investors who would now want to stake their claim and, without Patrick around, that would now become easy. Spider had no idea who had put money in and who had not and Pat's book-keeping would require the Enigma code breakers to fucking work it out. He had never bothered with the books before because he had always trusted Patrick; he could be a cunt but he was an honest cunt and he was a good mate. The chances were that he was now fucked, well and truly fucked. It stung, it really stung, and he needed to think long and hard about his next move.
Lenny Brewster looked at Lil Brodie and felt a prickle of conscience; she was as thin as a rake and her black clothes seemed to accentuate that, as did the whiteness of her skin. She was still a looker though; her grief seemed to add a vulnerability to her that he found appealing. Once she had mourned for a reasonable length of time he thought he might have a crack at her. A few months down the line she would be missing the old one-eyed snake and the thought of shagging Brodie's old woman appealed to him. Brodie had treated her like a goddess and he knew she hadn't been mauled by anyone else; the thought of shagging her was a pleasant distraction. His wife knelt down to pray after receiving Holy Communion and he knelt beside her, looking pious with his head down as if in prayer. Lenny knew he was out of order but he was ready to take the lead and had put in place a few nice surprises for the Palmer crew. Now he felt he was entitled to anything or anyone that took his eye and tickled his fancy. Lenny had always been a force, a respected Face, and no one had realised, until now, just how big his empire had become. A genial man, he had a knack of putting people at ease. He had a repertoire of jokes that he told with skill and he was good company. He had sat and waited for his turn and it had arrived sooner than he had expected. Now it was here he intended to make the most of it.
Lil sat in the church watching her husband's funeral and anyone could see she was not up to it. As she held her new baby in her arms she was causing not only the women's tears but also the men's discomfort.
She had been had over, no doubt about that, and she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She was in bits but she also knew she had to box clever to salvage anything for her boys. Patrick would be cursing them to hell if he was watching but there wasn't anything he could do about it from where he was; it was up to her now.
Any monies in the bank were of course hers; not that they kept much money in the bank. Not real money anyway; if you banked it you would eventually have to explain its existence to the taxman. Lil was also the beneficiary of any insurance policies Patrick might have taken out and she should get a one-off payment from the powers that be. She would then be expected to keep her head down. Lil was now an embarrassment because everyone knew she had been royally had over. She knew the ins and outs of the clubs, she had helped run them, but that knowledge would not do her any good now; she was old news and she knew it. With five kids and a dead husband Lil was without any kind of protection. Even in her grief she knew she had to stay strong for the kids; she had to get herself together and collect what was owing her. She also knew where Patrick had hidden some of the proceeds from the various bank robberies he had given permission for over the years. She was going to make a visit to his main yard, under cover of darkness, and see what was left. It galled Lil that her life as she knew it was over, that everything Pat had worked for had been in vain. She had seen the fur coat on Lenny's old woman, it had cost a bundle, and she had walked in the church like she owned the fucking place, waving at people and nodding. She was the new First Lady and she was loving it. Well, she hoped she had better luck in that capacity than she had had.
As Lil sat in the church she felt a strange calmness come over her; she was aware of how close her family had come to complete annihilation at the hands of Ricky Williams. She knew that Tommy would have killed Pat Junior without a second's thought and she thanked God for sparing him. She accepted the fact that all her husband's hard work, the clubs, the bookies, everything he had ever undertaken, was now under new management. She knew she couldn't dispute anything, she had no power any more. As she had looked at her children that morning, she knew that she had to accept her fate with good grace and try to pick up the remnants of her life. For their sakes.
Ricky Williams had come through for his family and they were riding high on it. People were once more civil to them, overeager in their quest to be allowed a few minutes of their precious time. Ricky had known he had to do something spectacular to get them back in the groove and he had achieved his objective with outstanding results. Palmer and Brewster had both given him a public welcome worthy of a World Cup winner. Ricky was now the undisputed head of the family, he had dragged them back to where they belonged. As he stood in the toilet of the Speiler in Bermondsey that Patrick Brodie had once called his own, he looked in the mirror and admired his good looks and his dapper new outfit. Ricky loved the new fashions, he loved the materials, and in his fitted-velvet jacket and his boot-cut jeans he felt like a real tasty geezer. He loved that expression, especially when he believed it pertained to him. His euphoria was at its peak and as he sauntered back into the bar he saw his brothers, what was left of them anyway, waiting for him with smiles and drinks. Ricky downed a double brandy and, feeling the burn, he held the glass out for a refill knowing that the barmaid would not optic it, not for him; he would be given the bottle on the counter as a measure of his prestige.
He fucking loved it, loved being on top, loved having the pick of the birds and loved knowing he was being talked about in hushed tones; his escapades being related over pints of lager by people who were impressed with him, were in awe of him.