The driver stuck his hand out and Jimmy shook it nervously. This was Siddy Clancy, and until now he had only ever heard the name. It was the Southeast equivalent of meeting a Hollywood star.
'I'll be in touch, OK?'
Freddie nodded once more and the car pulled away sharply, wheel-spinning out of the car park and nearly causing an accident as it barrelled down Dagenham Heathway towards the A13.
Freddie was puffed up like a peacock. Grinning, he grabbed Jimmy in an arm lock and started singing, 'We're in the money.'
Jimmy was caught up in his enthusiasm, and sang along.
'Fucking hell, Fred, Siddy Clancy. What a turn up!'
Freddie was serious suddenly.
'He's a cunt, and I am the man who is going to fuck him up.'
Jimmy wasn't sure he had heard right, Siddy Clancy was a bad man, a dangerous fuck. No one in their right mind would try to have him over, but he kept that pearl of wisdom to himself.
Freddie put a finger to his lip as he said, 'You keep this close to your chest right, and you can work with him alongside me. I'll show you the ropes, son. OK?'
Jimmy nodded as he was expected to. But he felt cold all of a sudden. Those were heavy-duty people and they were not really in his class, but he kept his own counsel.
Inside the warmth of the pub Freddie made his way straight over to a crowd of girls who were drinking at the bar.
Maggie saw her sister's face and sighed.
Jimmy slipped into the booth beside Maggie and, putting his arm around her, kissed the top of her head. Maggie instinctively snuggled in closer to him and watching the little tableau Jackie felt the rage that was always bubbling away inside her well up.
Her eyes were cutting through her husband's clothes and practically stabbing him in the back. He was aware of her watching but he didn't come back to sit with her until he had flirted enough to make the girls uneasy and his wife white faced and drawn.
Chapter Two
Steel Pulse was loud in the quiet of the room, cannabis smoke hung heavy on the air and the three men inside watched each other warily.
Outside the window were the usual summer sounds of kids laughing, traffic moving, and every now and then a car stereo booming its way down the street.
'What is it with him, eh?'
Freddie was shaking his head in disbelief while Jimmy was standing beside him, quietly watching the proceedings.
The black man with relaxed hair and gapped front teeth smiled wider. Jimmy knew that the man was dangerous. He looked friendly, affable even, but there was a steely glint in his eyes, and the unmistakable shape of a machete under his long leather coat. He also had a posse of mates outside the door of his house in South London.
Glenford Prentiss had a large spliff in his hand and he toked on it deeply before saying, in a gruff, smoke-filled voice that intermingled with his heavy coughing, 'It was shit, Freddie, that's the long and the short of it, man, nothing to wipe down. I sold it and you got your money. My boy made a serious fuck-up when he accepted it. I'm just saying in future I do the deals from now on.'
His thick Jamaican accent was interrupted as he tried to clear his throat. He was stoned but still lucid.
Freddie looked at the man before him. He was actually a nice geezer, he liked him, and he was absolutely right. Freddie had weighed Glenford off with some right shit the week before, and now he was learning a lesson.
Freddie prided himself on his ability to learn lessons, learn who could be had over, find out who might put up a bit of resistance. As he was Ozzy's front man he had to watch his step, mind his manners. Ozzy expected him to cream something off, not rip people off. There was a fine line and he knew that he had crossed it.
He had no choice but to hold his hand up, wipe his mouth and make the best of it.
He grinned, that white-toothed grin that crinkled up the corners of his eyes and made him look for all the world like someone's favourite son.
That grin belied the dangerous personality of its bearer and Glenford Prentiss knew that better than anyone. He had had his say, he was willing to fight his end, but he had a feeling he wouldn't have to. Why shoot the messenger boy? For all Freddie Jackson's hard-nosed demeanour he was only Siddy's puppet.
And Ozzy pulled all their strings.
Everyone knew that.
'It won't happen again.'
Glenford grinned. 'I know that, man.' He embraced Freddie then, laughing that infectious laugh he had. He slipped him a brown envelope stuffed with money, and Freddie didn't count it, he knew it wouldn't be light.
As Freddie pocketed the money Glenford said to him quietly, 'You got to try, man, I know that. I would have done the same myself.'
He passed the joint to Freddie who toked on it deeply, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before he slowly exhaled it. Then looking at the joint he said, 'Now that is good grass.'
Glenford grinned. 'Me never smoke what me sell, boy. Especially when it was bought from white boys.'
They all laughed then and Jimmy felt the tension depart the room. He finally exhaled his own breath then. The blacks worried him, but only because they were so unpredictable. He liked Glenford though and he had said the week before that Freddie should only unload the shittier grass on the skinheads who never knew the difference.
In the car a few minutes later Jimmy said as much to him again.
'That was a close one, Freddie. I mean, like I said last week, they know their puff.'
Freddie stopped the car. Turning in the driver's seat he looked into Jimmy's face and said sternly, 'Don't you ever fucking lecture me again, right? We had a touch last week and that's the end of it.'
Jimmy nodded furiously. 'I know that, Freddie. I was just saying-'
'Shut it.'
Freddie was staring into his eyes and the venom was there for anyone to see. Jimmy could feel the menace and he swallowed down the retort he was longing to give.
He was nearly twenty years old and he was a player, and it was getting harder and harder to keep his anger on a leash. Freddie treated him like the hired help and it rankled. He could hold his own with anyone and he wanted the respect that should have afforded him.
Freddie slammed his fist on the steering wheel in frustration. 'I'm sorry, Jim, but look at me, I am still selling shite for Clancy and the time has come to put him wise, whatever Ozzy might think. He is lumped up for the fucking duration and I ain't spending the rest of my life as one of his heavies.'
He started the car up again. 'And I don't need you reminding me, all right?' He smiled then, a sad little smile. 'Let's go and get a drink, eh? I have a little bird on the go in Ilford, you can drop me there and take the car, OK?'
He turned on the cassette player and the sounds of Phil Collins filled the cramped space between them.
Jimmy sighed inwardly. Freddie hadn't been home for days and he knew it was bringing untold aggravation for everyone concerned, except of course, for the man who caused all the upset.
In the last six months he had caused murders with Jackie, and while everyone else suffered, Freddie just did his own thing.
As Maggie's dad always said, Freddie Jackson would never
change all the time women had tits.
'Stick the kids in the bath for me, would you?'
Maggie nodded, and, going upstairs, she started to run the bath, putting in a hefty dollop of Matey so the girls would have something to play with.
Once the girls were settled in there she washed their hair quickly and then left them playing with their toys.
In the front room she saw Jackie had opened another bottle of Liebfraumilch.
'Where the fuck is he? For all I know he's banged up.'
Lena, who was in the kitchen making sure her daughter had food in the fridge to feed her children, said loudly and sarcastically, 'They would have informed you by now.'
Maggie could have lamped her mother for her answer. While Jackie could convince herself Freddie was banged up she was, if not happy, then at least reassured that her errant husband wasn't trumping the nearest female he could lay his grubby hands on.