Since he had been away, Lance had been keeping everything on the go; at least that was what he had been told. It must have been hard, he knew.
'Will you fucking sit down? I've got little Johnny White coming round in a minute.'
Lance dropped on to the seat beside him. 'It's good to have you back, mate.'
'It's good to be back. Now, tell me, has Brewster been tucking the old woman up? Because this place is definitely fucking dilapidated. I hear he ain't done fuck all but Mother won't tell me nothing. So, come on, before Johnny arrives.'
Lance looked into the eyes so like his own and yawned. 'Look, you know what Lenny's like; I've been doing a bit of ducking and diving meself for him. I made sure we were all sorted. Now, what does Johnny want?'
Pat punched his brother in the arm. It was a sharp punch, a warning punch, and they both knew it. Patrick had always been the stronger of the two; Lance had been the one with the short temper, the bully. That had all changed though. After the murder, Lance had seemed to sink into himself. The bloodbath had made Pat stronger and poor Lance weaker. His bullying days were over and he concentrated his energy on Kathleen. Like him, she had become a different child overnight. She had become quiet, withdrawn and sickly; she had been like a little doll. All big eyes and fear.
'So, come on, bruv, what's little Johnny want?'
Pat grinned, the old grin; the conspirator was once more home. 'We are going on a robbery this afternoon and Johnny is going to be the counter man. We need serious poke and it's the quickest way to earn a few quid. The post office has money delivered there at four forty-five every Friday; ready for the wages to be paid out to the local firms. There's only about thirty grand there but it'll do us nicely split three ways. It'll help us get the business on the road, see, and we can use it to buy more debts.'
Lance shrugged but he was nervous inside. Unlike Patrick, he had a worry of getting his collar felt. Pat took everything in his stride but Lance wasn't like that. He couldn't stand to be put away, he knew it would send him off his head. He couldn't bear to leave his family, especially Kathleen; he would die inside, so strong were his feelings towards them all. Even visiting Pat had caused him to hyperventilate. He had never liked being confined but he had never let that secret out to anyone; not even to his brother. Pat would have slaughtered him if he knew something like that. Lance knew the robbery would be a laugh though; everything Pat did was a laugh, that was what he had missed so much while he had been away.
'What post office are we doing?'
'Barking High Street. It's the perfect place. The old dears leave the money on the floor; they don't safe it, because they know it will be picked up quickly. They have a cuppa and they don't even bother to put it out of sight. All we need do is let little Johnny do his party piece and we can be in and out in minutes.'
Lance laughed. 'How did you find out about that so quick?'
'Mrs Doyle worked there; her son was banged up with me. I popped round there to give her a drink and she filled me in on the basics. I owed her Kevin a favour and I said I'd weigh her out with a few quid. Fucking Brewster was supposed to see her all right and he didn't give the poor old bag a fucking groat! He's doing a nine for that ponce and I can tell you now, he is not a fucking happy bunny.'
Lance laughed at his brother's cheery voice even though he knew Pat was annoyed about the situation. 'The man's a cunt and a fucking vicious cunt at that.'
'Has he really blanked the old woman?'
Lance nodded then. He realised Pat knew the score without even asking him anything.
'I've been doing a bit for him, like I said. But you know what he's like, all over you one minute and can't remember your fucking name the next.'
Pat crushed his empty lager can and threw it expertly into the bin. 'Well, I am going to remind him about Colleen and Christy.'
Pat had an edge to him now and even though he was still young there was the hardness about him that only a segregation wing can hone. He had been put in solitary twice while away and, because of his fighting skills, he had been moved into the prison system earlier than he should have been. He was proud of that, Lance knew. Men who had been away a long time respected Patrick because he could not only have a serious row but he could also do his bird with the minimum of fuss. He also had his father's creds and had made a point of ferreting out anyone who knew a story about him.
Pat was a realist; he knew that he had to get his head around his sentence and sit it out because the one thing that was guaranteed in nick was that the time passed, eventually.
'We have to get this gaff sorted for Mother and the kids and make sure she ain't got to work any more. She has grafted enough over the years and we need to sort her out soon as, don't you think?'
Lance nodded.
Pat watched his brother for long moments and wished he could climb inside his head, because he was a different boy to the one he had waved goodbye to at Chelmsford Crown Court all those years ago. Lance was even more nervous somehow. He seemed worried although he was still vicious. Pat had heard about his ravings even in nick; about when he lost it. Lance was a fucking headcase when he did go; that was their strength these days. Lance was capable of great anger and great violence but only when he was goaded beyond endurance.
Lance had suffered over his mother's indifference, Pat knew; she had swallowed it down over the years and had hidden it away but it was still there, lurking around, waiting to surface in the future. Pat could feel it coming off her sometimes and he knew that if he did, Lance had to feel it as well. Pat knew that the bus incident was always near the front of his mother's mind when she looked at Lance and he still bore the scars from her hiding all those years ago. But he had been a kid then and now he was a man. At least Pat hoped he was; he would soon find out anyway.
Pat leapt out of the chair, forcing the thoughts away.
'Want another beer, Lance?'
Pat walked into the kitchen and, opening the fridge, the anger hit him once more. His father had worked his arse off for them and Brewster had walked in and taken it from under their noses.
He had heard all about it in nick, had heard the stories and the rumours. He'd also found out about Lance's dealings with Lenny but he had planned to wait a while before he mentioned that to him. He'd been hoping against hope that Lance would mention it first, would confess his involvement in Lenny's scams. Pat had been as patient as he could with his brother and reminded himself that Lance had been left to shoulder the burden on his own and that he had done what he thought was right. And now he had. Each day Pat was gathering more and more information and the more he learned the more he felt in control of his life. In the meantime, he could feel his excitement about the plans for that afternoon building up inside him.
When little Johnny finally arrived, Lance was reminded of how small he actually was. He was just over five feet two in height and he had dark skin and deep-green eyes. His thick hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wore the usual blagger's garb: leather jacket, jeans, officer boots and a baseball hat that would of course be replaced with a black balaclava once they hit the post office.
Johnny was carrying a dark-blue canvas bag that held three sawn-off shotguns and a German Luger that Pat had ordered as a set-piece. He knew he needed protection and he was determined that he would have it. In fact, he already had a Saturday-night special that had been the property of his father. He had known where it was hidden, even as a kid, and he had kept it in perfect condition ever since. He had also kept its existence very quiet; like his father before him he lived by the old Irish adage, people only know what you tell them.