'I think the expression you are looking for is, to make an example.' Johnjo spoke with a quiet dignity that always put people off their guard on first encountering him. He was a huge man with thick black hair and a white-toothed smile that always caught ladies' eyes. But he had a quirk in his nature, he had no feelings for anyone outside his close-knit family circle. He would wound anyone for cash and it had made him a force in his own right. He never worried about any comebacks, there were too many Milligans about for that and they were all like him: loyal and easily insulted.
The Milligans were fighters, bare-knuckle and extreme. Johnjo had been an extreme champion since he was fifteen years old. He had fought all over the world and earned a fortune. Extreme fights meant the opponents could use anything they wanted to win the bout. From biting and scratching to using the stools they were supposed to sit on between rounds. Johnjo was a one-off and his talents had been useful over the years; he was called in when a point needed to be made. It wasn't only his violence, it was his penchant for torturing his victims that was required, and the exorbitant price he charged for these services was what made people widen their eyes with respect. If you used Johnjo Milligan you meant fucking business, and no one in their right mind wanted him towering over them with a pair of pliers or a soldering iron.
'Now, Mr Brewster, Mr Palmer is still on the oxygen; would you like to do the honours or shall I?'
Lenny nodded, as always impressed with Johnjo's understatement of the facts and his quiet way of talking that was totally out of place considering the circumstances around him.
Alan was moaning in pain but his open eyes told the men around him that he was more than aware of what was happening. Lenny walked over to the snooker table and picked up a cue. It took five good blows to Alan's head before everyone was satisfied he was dead.
Alan's body was dragged to the doorway by a couple of Lenny's blokes. Unlike the Williams brothers, he was just being outed. In fairness he was a name in his own right and so he just needed to stop existing. The story was already being relayed everywhere that he had financed the Williams brothers to do the dirty on Brodie for his own ends. Lenny would come out of all this as the person who had avenged Pat's death and honoured the man by taking out his murderers. He would be the hero of the hour and he would also get the fucking lot for himself. A win-win situation for him.
'Tie their hands and feet, but strip them first, please.' Johnjo spoke to no one in particular, but his henchmen rushed to do as he asked. It didn't take long; the brothers put up a good fight but there were too many opponents. On the floor, with the dirty carpet scratching their bare skin and the stench of cigarettes and lager in their nostrils, the fight finally left them. Ricky looked up at Lenny and his cronies; he had already got Alan Palmer's firm safely on board and with the Williams brothers' departure he would be hailed as the fucking Messiah.
'You cunt, you fucking treacherous slag. Do your fucking worst; you can't even do the honours yourself, you fucking coward.'
Ricky was screaming out at Brewster; he was determined to go out with at least some kind of dignity and he wouldn't beg for his life off this scum. He had taken a chance and it had not worked out, simple as that. He wasn't about to fucking cry over it. They were already dead men, all four brothers; it was just a matter of seeing how long it took for them to die.
Lenny Brewster kicked him in the face and shouted down to him, 'Shut the fuck up, you ponce. You slaughtered Brodie in front of his family. How the fuck could you believe that such a fucking outrageous act, such a fucking shameful display, would be tolerated by anyone, would be seen by anybody as fucking acceptable behaviour? You stepped over the line, mate, and you are going to pay the price for your obscene act. Anyone with a family wants you lot dead; anyone with a scrap of decency wouldn't fucking countenance you in their company, you fucking scum.'
Johnjo had taken his shirt off and his muscular body was a reminder to the brothers of his strength, and his calmness was a reminder of his reputation as a cold and ruthless torturer.
Johnjo signalled for Lenny to move away from the men on the floor.
'Get back now. You don't want to be too close to these fecking eejits when I start me shenanigans.'
Everyone in the room laughed but there was an undercurrent of excitement as well. None of the men present had seen the Milligans at work before, but they had heard the stories about them. They had wondered at the truth of them sometimes as they were so extreme; even making allowances for natural exaggerations and the need to make a story interesting, the rumours had been outrageous.
Johnjo looked at Ricky with disgust and he swallowed down a large brandy before saying softly and sadly, 'You never touch children, boy, never do anything in front of them; it's the eleventh commandment. The slaughter of Pat Brodie, a good friend of mine, by the way, in front of his kids will ensure I take a greater pleasure than usual in my work tonight.'
Then he doused them in brandy, soaking their hair and skin. The others all sat down to watch the performance and Ricky and his brothers cursed them all to hell.
Then Ricky saw Johnjo's cousin, Toby, lighting a blowtorch and he felt the tears roll from his eyes. Within minutes he was doing the one thing he had not wanted to do; he was begging not for his life but for his brothers' deaths. He begged for them to be put out of their pain. But he was forced to watch them die slowly, screaming in agony, before the Milligans turned their attentions to him.
A month after Patrick's funeral, Lenny Brewster sent a message to Lil saying that he wanted to see her. She knew she had no choice but to do as he asked of her.
'How are you coping, Lil?' His voice was calm and had the right inflection of sorrow and the expression on his face was one of genuine sympathy.
Lil shrugged elegantly and Lenny noticed the hollows in her neck and the way her breasts were straining against the material of the dress she wore. Her hair was freshly washed and styled and her make-up was flawless. As Lil crossed her legs he felt the heat rise up inside him.
'I need money, Lenny, simple as that.'
He knew then that she was on to him, that she knew how he was feeling and was willing to go along with it if necessary.
He had made a point of making sure certain rumours had reached her ears, and had seen to it that no one offered her any help; he had assured the general populace that he was taking care of everything. Lil was at her wits' end and he knew it and he would use it against her to get what he wanted.
'I need a job and I need it soon. I used to run the clubs for Patrick and I was good at it. He relied on me as I am sure you know.'
Lil watched the changing expressions on Lenny's face and hated him with every ounce of her being but he had made sure she had no one and nowhere to turn to. He was the only game on the street and she knew she had to do whatever he wanted.
'Why would I want you working for me?'
He was belittling her and she swallowed down the urge to walk out on him, to tell him what she thought of him. But the boys needed shoes, the girls needed clothes and the new baby needed everything. She needed to put food on the table and pay her bills. No one, it seemed, was willing to help her and she knew that was because this man had made sure she was left hanging. Even Spider had abandoned her. Lenny was a hero for what he had done to the Williams brothers, but she knew he had an agenda and she now knew that she was a big part of that.
So Lil smiled her best smile and shrugged gently once more. 'Because I am good at what I do and I would be an asset.'