Everyone was seated now and Lenny was left standing in his own office. He stared at them all with his usual aplomb; as if nothing bothered him, which, until tonight, it actually hadn't. He leant nonchalantly against the bar; his handmade suit was crumpled and his eyes were red-rimmed from the drink he had consumed that afternoon. Even the good whisky he had poured for himself tasted bitter somehow.
Lenny kept glancing at the door, expecting someone to enter, even though he knew deep inside him that that was not going to happen. Patrick seemed to know what he was thinking because he said quietly, 'No one's coming to your rescue, mate. I saw to that days ago.'
Lenny Brewster shrugged. 'Am I supposed to be scared or something?' His voice sounded much more confident than he actually felt.
'Come on, Lil, sort this boy out, will you?' His voice was deliberately scornful; he knew he had to make an impression and he also knew he was in big trouble. For the first time in years he was afraid, mortally afraid.
Lil didn't answer him. No one had expected her to. She got up though and, walking to her son, she kissed him on the cheek. Then she said heavily, 'You can't talk your way out of this one, Lenny. You have to stand there and take what's coming to you.'
Her voice was his undoing; that she was there to see all this, to see him brought so low, was more than he could bear. It had finally dawned on him that no one was going to come up, that no one was going to help him. He was surrounded by his enemies and that was through choice; he had only ever made enemies.
The girl he had been with earlier had slipped into the club itself and he knew then that even she had heard a whisper about what might happen. She had covered her bases all right, but that even a slag like her was in the know, devastated him.
Young Patrick was still sitting there quietly. His deep-blue eyes were expressionless and his body taut and young. Looking at him, Lenny knew that he couldn't compete. But he was far from finished and he wouldn't go down without a fight.
'I ain't fucking standing for this, boy. I ain't your father, letting meself be taken like a fucking rabid dog. Looking forward to your birthday this year, son?'
Lenny Brewster had never carried any kind of firearm; he knew that if you packed a weapon you were putting yourself up for a seven-year stretch on possession of firearms charges. He had thought he had been so clever, making sure everyone around him was packing, but now he wished he had one to hand so he could blow these bastards off the face of the earth without a second's thought.
Patrick was unmoved by his words, was not going to be goaded into anger. He was calm and collected. Lil could see her son's demeanour and, standing up quickly, she said, 'I'll be downstairs when you want me. The girls will need a firm hand and the sooner I start, the better.'
As Lil walked towards the doorway, Lenny, his anger as always a heartbeat away, pulled his arm back ready to take a swipe at her. As he did so, Patrick and Jimmy were up and ready for him. But it was Lil who retaliated first. She grabbed a whisky glass off the bar and, with all her strength, she smashed it into his face. As he felt the glass break, the slicing of his skin, he was so shocked he didn't even move. Putting up his hand, he held it to his cheek, feeling the skin flapping as it hung in chunks from his cheekbone. Bringing his hand away from his face, he stared down at the crimson blood and knew then that he was finished. It was over. Lil had finally got the last word and he appreciated the irony of it. He had spent his life using anyone and everyone around him and he had known his time would come; it was inevitable. He just hadn't thought it would be at the hands of the Brodies. He smiled sadly, feeling the pain now. As the cuts began to sting, he knew Lil had been entitled to that one blow at least. He had hurt her enough over the years.
Lil watched the blood seeping down his face; the bone was exposed and she was amazed that she didn't feel nauseous. He looked awful and it didn't bother her. She had no feelings either way about the wounds she had inflicted on him.
The shirt Lenny wore was drenched in his blood and she looked at it and felt a measure of relief. He had tortured her and worse than that, he had ignored her children; his own flesh and blood. For that alone she wanted him to hurt. The years of his abuse and his hate was spurting out of her now.
'Fuck you, Lenny. Fuck you, you rotten bastard. You took my Pat from me and you fucking knew you had when you came creeping round my house. You used me and you fucking enjoyed it.'
He watched her and then he laughed. 'Course I didn't. Who the fuck would want you lot? Tell me that? A fucking washed-up has-been and her gaggle of kids. Your cunt's bigger than Dartford Tunnel, darling. You're a fucking joke to me, you always were.'
Patrick walked over to Lenny then. Lenny saw the look in the boy's eyes as he goaded him once more. 'Your mother's son, you are, eh? A brass, she was a fucking brass, boy. She flogged her fanny in this very club. It's a wonder she never fucked your Lance. Let's face it, he'd be up for it, wouldn't he? Weird ponce that he is. And what about the twins, eh, the loon and the lesbian? I wouldn't want to be part of the Brodie family for all the coke in fucking Colombia.'
Lenny couldn't understand why no one was doing anything about what he was saying. They were just standing there as if he was invisible. Then he saw that Lil had put her hand up, that she was stopping them from retaliating. The fact they were willing to do as she asked, amazed him. Women had no place in his world; they were less than nothing. In fact, he had never once been bothered about one in his life.
Now, he saw the power women could wield over their sons or their lovers and he was glad he had never been reduced to anything so fucking humiliating.
'What about Colleen and Christy? What about them, Lenny?'
He laughed. His face was really hurting now and he could feel the blood dripping on to the floor. It was surreal, the whole thing was surreal.
'What about them, Lil? They mean nothing to me, no more than you ever did.'
It was said so nastily and with such malice and hatred that Lil couldn't listen to him any more.
'You took everything from me, Lenny, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters any more because if I got nothing else from you, I got those kids and they are worth the world.'
She looked at him then and she saw the blood and the sweat and she also saw the fear. He was frightened out of his life and she knew he had always been frightened of something or someone. Even Patrick had been taken out by the Williams brothers; this man would never have had the guts to do it himself. He had been the catalyst for all her family's ills and yet he had also given her two children she adored.
Her fear of him was gone; she had marked him as he had bragged about marking her. He had seen his children as nothing more than chains to keep her bound to him and they had been doing exactly that for far too long. Her son was going to rectify everything that had happened to them and, at last, she was going to be free of this man and his hate.
'I'll see you two later.'
Lil walked from the room then and she felt lighter than she had in years. People thought that violence solved nothing and they were right. But she also knew that sometimes rough justice was all that people like her had left.
Lenny watched her go. He had the demonic look of a maniac and he watched in fear as Jimmy Brick and Pat Brodie took heavy chains from their pockets and then wrapped them delicately around their knuckles. He knew he would die in agony and then only after a long beating.