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.
Spider was in the Beehive in Brixton waiting for Cain to pick him up and eyeing up a tall African girl with dark eyes and four-inch platforms.
She was smiling at him with the invitation he was used to being offered and with the same high-handedness that always attracted him to his women. But he had enough on his hands at the moment with his latest partner and the tantrums she could command at any time of the day or night. He put this one in the back of his mind for future reference, though it was worth giving her a smile anyway. You never knew what the future might bring.
Spider was on his fifth pint of Guinness when Cain came in and motioned for him to go outside. For the first time in years, he saw his brother looking worried and he followed him outside with trepidation. A lot was going on this night and he wondered what part they would have to play in it.
Dennis was lying on a concrete floor and he could feel the coldness and the dampness seeping into his bones. He had been lying there for what seemed a long time, though in reality it had only been about forty-five minutes. He was trussed up like a chicken, his hands were tied behind his back and his legs were tied at the knees, making it hard to get himself comfortable. He could smell oil and petrol and the smells were not making him feel any better. He was not sure exactly where he was. It was too dark and he had been too frightened to really take any notice of where he was going; he had been told to look at the floor of the car and he had complied because he knew he was now relying on the friendship he had once had with Brodie to see him through till the morning.
His eyes were getting accustomed to the dimness and he looked around him with interest; he could see tyres piled up, smell the rubber and the dirt. There were also a lot of packing crates that he guessed held either knocked-off gear or drugs and as he was now sobering up by the second he wondered whose garage he was now incarcerated in. He hoped it wasn't anyone he knew well; the shame would be unbearable. As would this whole episode if it became common knowledge.