Ricky saw Alan Palmer hold his arms out in much the same way he had himself; this time, though, the gesture was appreciated and returned with fervour. It galled him but he knew it was still early days for the Williams brothers; they had made a statement but now they had to prove they were consistent. That had always been their bugbear in the past; they never kept anything up. They had been given chances over and over again and they had always fucked up. So he understood the men's reticence, he would have been the same in their shoes, but it still galled him. He was now the family's facilitator and should be respected for that alone, especially after what they had achieved for the men they were now meeting with.
Lenny was all good-humoured laughter and his usual theatrical gestures. Alan Palmer, Ricky noticed, was nervous but then he had just hit the big time at last and that was something Ricky knew about. Palmer was already laughing at Lenny's jokes and as they raised their drinks in a salute, Ricky saw Lenny wink at Alan in a way that told him they had business between them already. He was confident that could only be good news for him and his brothers. As Ricky smiled and chatted he saw Tommy mutter something to Dave and Bernie. Then he pulled a wrap out of his pocket and, walking towards the men's toilets, he opened the paper package up and put his tongue in the contents to check its potency. He saw Lenny watching him and knew he was not making a good impression. Even though this was a safe bar, it was still not proper etiquette to blatantly advertise any kind of drug-taking when bosses were around. Unless they started the night off with it themselves and then it was different. This was a meet though and they should all be on top form; no one trusted the judgement of a speed freak or a cokehead. It was just common sense really and Ricky knew that Lenny was up for a lot of things, but not the Persian rugs. He expected it to be fed to his brasses; prostitutes needed the edge, everyone knew that. But he was not someone who partook of the Colombian marching gear himself. He was a drinker, pure and simple. Tommy had just made them all look like amateurs and he wished he had been more forceful when he had given his brothers their instructions on how they should behave. At times he felt like he was banging his head against a wall; this looked like amateur night on a council estate.
Alan smiled but he saw the entourage that had arrived with Lenny and he was surprised; there were five of them. He knew that Lenny was astute enough to always keep himself safe but all these goons for a friendly meet seemed like overkill and he suddenly felt intimidated. He knew Lenny was a fucking hard bastard and he also knew that he was outclassed and that it was probably his insecurity making him feel that way. But for his whole life he had relied on his instincts; any successful villain had to. It told them when they were sailing too close to the wind and when Lily Law was getting too close for comfort. It was a self-defence mechanism and his was going into overdrive for some reason. This didn't feel right; he felt like an outsider, like a spare part. Like he was nothing. Alan swallowed down his drink and tried to concentrate on the Williams brothers and the deal that he had made with Brewster. His earlier bravado was deserting him and he wished he had arrived with a full complement of minders; it would have made him feel a lot better.
The bar was slowly emptying and it was a while before anyone noticed that Ricky had gone to the toilet after Tommy and, after giving him a coating, had returned to the bar and found Lenny leaning in and talking to Palmer. It had suddenly occurred to Ricky that most of the clientele had gone. The only people left was a small crowd of men in the outer bar. They were large and they were all wearing sheepskins and they were talking quietly to each other. He knew they were tooled up but in this place that wasn't so unusual. Most people he knew had a baseball bat in their car, a gun in their house and a cosh of some description about their person. Knives and guns were an everyday item to these people but he knew that their heavy sheepskins were hiding the fact that they were tooled up. As Ricky walked back to the bar he knew in his heart what was coming.
Lenny watched Ricky as he approached and he smiled, then ordered another round of drinks. As Alan went to pick his drink up, Lenny shanked him quickly and neatly; he aimed for the liver and when Alan turned to face him, which was a natural reaction and expected, Lenny aimed once more, this time for the heart. Alan's minders watched it all without any kind of emotion.
Ricky saw Tommy, Bernie and Dave finally cop on to what the night was really about. Lenny smiled at him, a friendly and open smile that belied the psychotic personality it had always camouflaged.
'You must have known the score, Ricky? You and Palmer had to have known I couldn't trust any of you? You wiped out Brodie and as much as I appreciate that, you took a fucking diabolical liberty. People like you, scruffs and fucking numbskulls, taking it on yourselves to wipe out someone like Brodie? You didn't honestly think that would go unpunished surely?'
Lenny started to laugh then, a sarcastic laugh, a laugh full of derision and triumph. Ricky knew that they were finished and he also knew that this was not going to be a good hiding, no, a serious lesson was going to be taught here. The lesson was actually for the people who would hear about it, who would know that they had been lured to their deaths on a fucking muppets' bus pass. He was sorry then. Sorry for their mother; she had buried enough children. Sorry for himself and for his brothers.
The barmaid had disappeared and Ricky hadn't even noticed. The bar itself was well-decorated for the kind of establishment it was. The wall lights were throwing an eerie glow on Palmer's body and it was a second or two before they realised he was still alive. His breathing was ragged and loud, wet-sounding from the blood that was filling his lungs.
'Fucking hell, he has a strong constitution for a cunt.'
Everyone laughed and Ricky saw that the men from the outer bar were now walking through to join them, taking off their heavy coats and making themselves comfortable. As they rolled up their shirtsleeves he knew this was going to be a long night.
'Here, Johnjo, come and sort these out will you?'
The name was all that was needed to tell Ricky that they were going to be despatched with the maximum of pain and torture. Johnjo Milligan was a name that denoted terror; he was one of a family of Irish pikeys who had a legendary reputation. Few people had met them; they kept a low profile and spent most of their time on the fairgrounds. They were used for a number of jobs, but mainly for torture. Johnjo was a handsome individual with a lilting Dublin accent. He had a way with the ladies and a way with the police. They could never place him anywhere because he had a network of relatives all willing to swear blind that he was with them when it was necessary.
'What are you doing this for, Lenny? We fucking opened the door for you, we made this happen. You can't fucking do this…'
Lenny was smiling again. Ricky saw his brothers' faces; they were looking at him to rectify this situation, to make everything all right.
'I can do what I want, young Ricky. Thanks to you and your brothers I am the only sweet left in the shop. Now I have to make a show of my disgust. Show people that I can't let scum like you run riot and take the law into your own hands. I have to show my contempt for your actions and for Patrick's death, which, by the way, was a fucking liberty. I can't let people think they can do that to a fucking ganger and get away with it, can I?'