Jackie's girls were all laughing and joking in the front room, putting on music, and Maggie smiled as she heard an old soul tape going on. The girls loved all the old songs, thank God. As Sam and Dave blared out of the sound system, she walked through to the garden and was grateful to finally have a sip of her white wine.
Maddie was sitting quietly on a garden chair. She was always invited, and she always sat by herself, smiling, but rarely joining in. Her husband's death had hit her hard and Maggie always remembered the awful feeling on her wedding day when the news had been blurted out by Freddie.
His father had lain in the bath and slashed his wrists, and the thought of it still made her blood run cold.
It had been such a traumatic thing for them all to have to deal with on such a happy day. Freddie had found him, and had not wanted to ruin the wedding. He had waited until the body had been taken away and the bathroom cleaned up, so his poor mother had not had to face that on top of everything else.
Maggie knew that Jimmy, like her, felt awful for the way they had assumed Freddie had just blanked them. She pushed the thought from her mind and went over to where poor Maddie sat on a garden chair.
She sat beside her and chatted for a while, but she knew the woman was waiting for her son, and if he arrived it would make her day. If he didn't then she would go home and sit alone and wait for him there. At least he took care of her. Maggie couldn't take that away from him.
'I wish you would just listen to me sometimes, Freddie. I knew they were fucking ice creams.' Pat's voice was heavy with annoyance because she knew Freddie was still not listening to her.
The South London warehouse they were standing in was full of snide. Though Jekyll and Hyde was the proper term for all the goods stacked around them, it had been shortened to Jekyll or snide. The warehouse was chock-full of snide booty and swag. A lot of videos, most not yet on general release. Disney videos were where their money really lay. Disney only brought their films out every seven years, so there was always a new market for them. One year it might be Bambi, another year Dumbo, but the main thing was, once the film was released it would not be brought out again for a long while. This worked to their advantage since all they needed were a couple of master tapes and they were off. They could knock them out for a couple of quid and the one-parent families could treat the kids and buy a carton of fags, and still be quids in, as opposed to going to Woolworths and paying what they termed the full bifta.
There was also plenty of hardcore porn, otherwise known as old Bluey. They made fortunes from that too. It was easy to bring it in from Denmark and Sweden, where you could watch what the fuck you liked without having to justify your shagging preferences to anyone but your old woman.
Then there were knocked-off Fila tracksuits, run up in Korea and shipped over for the benefit of the unemployed and anyone who used a local market. The designer stuff was worth a lot of money, and it caused a lot of aggravation because there was so much competition around trying to flog it off.
'How long did they say they would be?' Patricia tapped her foot in annoyance, and Freddie checked his gold Rolex. It was definitely not a Jekyll nowadays. Patricia had seen it before and knew it sweeped not ticked, but they had boxes full of snide watches for the discerning punter. From Rolex to Cartier, it was one of the best scams ever. Everyone suddenly wanted to be a film star, wanted to look worth a few quid, and they were tapping into that market.
'They should have been here by now, Freddie.' Patricia lit a cigarette, also snide. These were knocked up in China and they had everything from the right boxes to the right import dockets. They were ten pence a pack, and they knocked them out in the two hundreds all over the smoke for fortunes. It was like having a licence to print money.
'They had better get their arses in gear, right?' she said.
Freddie heard a van pull up outside and sighed theatrically. He knew how to play the game and Pat was getting on his wick acting like he was her fucking ball boy.
The men he was meeting were two brothers from Liverpool. They were young, ambitious and basically braindead.
They had been taking a lot of the merchandise from them and relocating it up their end of the country. All well and good, except the brothers now owed Freddie a lot of money and after repeated requests for payment, and outrageous and insolent excuses for the lack of moolah travelling back down the Ml, they were about to get what was known in their game as a severe warning.
The two brothers were called the Corcorans. Shamus and Eddie were in their twenties and were loud, funny and good company. Now they would have added to their résumé, piss takers.
As they walked into the dimness of the warehouse they were both smoking cigarettes and, as usual, laughing. Seeing Freddie, they both slowed down. He was not supposed to be there, and they had believed they were meeting with his minions, Des and Micky Fleming, and Bobby Blaine.
'Hello, Freddie, we didn't expect to see you today.'
Freddie grinned, all white teeth and camaraderie. 'I know. How are you, boys?'
They shrugged simultaneously. 'Great, yourself?'
Shamus was the brains of the outfit and he was uneasy. He knew Freddie was going to have to have a word, and he tried to pre-empt him. 'We've got some of your money in the van.'
Pat laughed. 'That makes a fucking change. We thought we were giving out to a new charity, the Liverpool ponces' society. You a member, eh?'
Freddie laughed then, a genuine, friendly laugh that relaxed the two men. 'How much you got for me, then?'
He sounded all right and the brothers relaxed. Freddie smiled. In his tracksuit pocket he held a set of knuckledusters. They were custom-made and spiked, and they would do a lot of damage in the minimum of time.
Shamus flicked his hand over his shoulder in a friendly way. 'We've got ten grand out there.'
Shamus was a large lad, but he did not have the presence he needed to intimidate. His brother did have the presence, but he lacked the killer instinct. They would always work for someone and that someone would always leave them to take the flak. It was sad, but it was a fact of life.
'Go out to the van, Pat, and have a rummage, see if you can locate any poke. I'll meet you outside in a minute.'
She nodded to Freddie and walked sedately away from the men.
Shamus knew what was coming and braced himself. He had taken the piss, he knew that, but his brother was not the sharpest knife in the drawer and he wanted to protect him.
'Look, Freddie, let me brother go, mate. I'll take whatever is coming… it was me who pissed the money away, not him.'
Freddie admired him for his loyalty. He understood that the younger brother was obviously not a contender for The Krypton Factor, so he made a snap decision. He brought his hand out of his pocket and attacked Eddie with all the force he could muster. Shamus jumped in but Freddie knocked him to the ground.
Freddie took Eddie's face off in under two minutes.
Then, once he had dropped to the floor, he turned to Shamus and grinned at him as he kicked the boy's ribs into mush.
Exploit any weakness to your advantage. Freddie had lived by that rule all his life and it paid off. Shamus's weakness was this poor boy who would spend the rest of his life with breathing problems, due to a punctured lung, and a face full of Mars Bars, courtesy of his knuckle-duster.
He also knew his money would be there within the week.
Freddie had already taken care of the Liverpool end, so he had not stepped on anyone's toes. Shamus would find that out soon enough, so he decided not to add to the boy's burden today by telling him he had nowhere to go for retribution. This was an out-and-out straightener.
He shook hands with Shamus before helping him sling his brother into the back of the van and giving him directions to the nearest hospital.