Agnes stood in the doorway and just slowly mouthed, ‘Yes!’
‘The first red rose, Ma, is to say thanks for all yeh gave up to try and make things better for us.’ There was now total silence in the marquee. ‘The second red rose, Ma, is from all of your sons and your daughter to remind yeh how much we love yeh - and the third red rose, Ma, is because I wanted an extra one in the bunch ’cause I want you to know that if I could round up all the roses in the world and gather them into this tent here tonight, you’d still deserve one more.‘
Agnes walked to her son and gave him a hug. She took the flowers and held them close to her like a new-born child. She embraced Betty and their tears mingled, and suddenly she was surrounded by neighbours and friends - and trying to feign indifference.
Mark once again got the attention of the crowd and when he had reasonable silence continued his speech. ‘I’m not finished yet. I would also like to announce that with the permission of Mrs Collins and me Ma — tonight me and Betty are gettin’ engaged.’
This was met with a huge cheer, and while the crowd clapped and roared, Mark smiled and slid a single-stone engagement ring onto Betty Collins’s wedding finger. She was immediately surrounded by every teenage girl in the tent and whisked away to a comer where the ring would be perused, tried on, and spun in wishes. Right on cue the DJ hit the button to play, yes, once again, Cliff Richard singing ‘Congratulations’.
Chapter 13
LONDON
IT HAD BEEN A VERY CLOSE SHAVE. Manny sat in the holding cell of Maidstone police station. It had been too close. He had gone to Maidstone to meet a new client, taking with him a small sample of heroin and a small sample of cocaine. Maidstone was well out of his area and he didn’t know a lot about the place, so maybe he should have known better. Manny, however, was not adverse to a bit of expansion and when the opportunity came to have a sub-distributor in Maidstone, he thought: What the heck?
The meeting had been set up for a lane at the back of premises called The Silver Skillet. The Silver Skillet was an up-market eatery with cabaret. As Manny sat on the side of a dustbin, awaiting his rendezvous, he could hear the stand-up comedian rattle them off upstairs. The place was in an uproar of laughter. Whoever the comedian was, he had them by the balls.
Manny saw the police car slowly pass by the end of the lane. It didn’t stop, but instinctively Manny got up and began to walk further down the alley. He didn’t see the policeman at the other end, but thankfully the constable had forgotten to turn off his radio and once Manny heard it crackle he took off like a jack-rabbit. He sprinted through a pedestrian shopping area. All the shops were closed and shuttered and his footsteps echoed loudly around the concourse. So too did those of the now-pursuing constable. Within two minutes Manny had reached his Sunbeam Rapier.‘ He slammed the door, turned the ignition and gunned the engine, flung the car into first gear and screeched out of the shopping-centre carpark.
After three minutes of hard driving the view in Manny’s mirror was clear. He exhaled, relaxed and eased his foot off the pedal. Suddenly out of a side road the black police Jaguar pulled in behind him with the blue light flashing. Manny took a sharp left and gunned the engine again. The police car broke hard and didn’t make the bend. The driver had to reverse to get it to right itself. It then followed at speed. The short overshoot by the police car had given Manny enough time to open his passenger window and toss out the two little bags. He watched in his mirror as the police drove past the spot where he had dumped them. He then took a sharp right, followed by the police car. Just a couple of hundred yards into this street, Manny indicated and pulled over. Four policemen jumped from the car. It had been a set-up.
Manny’s window was now rolled down and as the first officer reached him, Manny very said coolly, ‘Is there a problem, officer?’
Manny was taken from the car, handcuffed and brought to Maidstone Police Station. They searched him thoroughly - very thoroughly - and found nothing. They then put him in a cell while half a dozen officers went back and retraced the route Manny had driven, searching the area as thoroughly as they could to see if he had ditched the drugs. They found nothing. Somebody had got an ounce of cocaine and an ounce of heroin, but it wasn’t the Maidstone police force. On their return to the station the officers removed Manny from his cell and formally charged him with dangerous driving. Before they had locked Manny up they had taken his personal belongings. One of the officers counted the money in Manny’s wallet, and it held two hundred pounds, so they now posted his bail at two hundred and fifty pounds. Manny was given his one phone call - they led him to a room, placed a phone in front of him and left him alone. Manny dialled the number carefully and hoped that Ben would be there.
Ben Daly was half-asleep, sitting in front of the television he had rented from the shop below his bedsit when the phone rang. He walked to the hall outside the flat where the public phone hung and answered it.
‘Hello?’
The caller was Manny Wise.
‘Manny, what’s up?’
‘Ben, mate, I’m in a bit of bower, I’m in the nick.’
‘Jaysus! Why, what happened?’
‘It don’t matter now. I’ll fill you in on all that later. For now I need you to get some dough. Do you have fifty quid?’
‘Fifty quid! Jaysus, no. I have about seven quid, that’s all, Manny!’
‘Have you still got the spare key to my apartment?’
‘Yeh.’
‘Right, then, here’s what I want you to do ...’ Manny gave Ben strict instructions on how to open the safe’s combination lock. Begin at zero, go eighty-two to the right, back to zero, spin all the way around to the right, back to zero again, then go eighty to the left, and then go back to nine on the right, and then turn the locking handle. He told him to get fifty pounds in cash from the safe and to take a further twenty quid to cover a taxi fare out to Maidstone Police Station. Ben could tell from the way Manny’s final instruction, ‘Move your arse!’, was delivered that our Manny didn’t have the bottle for a prison cell.
When Ben walked up the Edgeware Road he saw the police car parked outside the Chinese restaurant. He checked his pocket for the small torch he had brought and ducked down an alley to go into the apartment through the back door. He climbed the two flights of stairs up to Manny’s place, slid the key in the lock and quietly turned it. The door opened easily. He didn’t need a torch to find his way to the study.
Before tackling the safe he checked from the comer of the window that the car was still in place. It was. He crossed the room and bent low to the safe. Ben had never opened a safe before in his life, but he followed the instructions Manny had given him to the letter. He was surprised when the safe opened first time. As the door opened wide, so too did Ben’s eyes. There was stacks of money! Manny had told Ben to bring along the fifty quid and some identification for Manny. He had told him also to make sure to bring his Irish passport which was in the back of the safe. Ben reached over the money and lifted a tray at the back of the safe. The first thing that caught his eye were two neat foil-wrapped parcels, one marked ‘CC’ the other marked ’HN‘. Ben knew exactly what these parcels contained. Underneath the parcels were some stocks, bonds, some official-looking papers and a yellowed envelope on which was written ’Dublin Papers‘.
Ben opened the envelope, read the page and then returned it to the envelope. He sat for a few moments just staring at the money, his mind clicking. Finally he made his decision. He took Manny’s passport and into it he slid fifty pounds in sterling. He then took the two foil-wrapped parcels and stuffed one into each pocket of his anorak. He took a fistful of money, which later turned out to be three thousand pounds and rammed it down the belt of his trousers. He closed the safe and left.
When Ben Daly arrived at the night desk in Maidstone Police Station it was 2am. He handed the desk sergeant Manny Wise’s passport along with the fifty pounds Manny was short for his bail. The sergeant did not like Ben Daly.
‘Who are you?’ the sergeant asked.
‘I’m the man who just gave you the passport and fifty pounds,’ Ben answered very coolly.
‘And what’s your. name?’
‘Why?’
‘Let’s just say I’m interested.’
‘Well, you should get interested in butterflies, they’re easier to catch.’
The desk sergeant gave up. Within minutes Manny Wise was collecting his personal belongings, including an empty wallet, and he left the building with Ben. They didn’t speak till they were safely cocooned in the Sunbeam Rapier and heading down the motorway towards the city.
‘You’re a good mate, Ben, I knew I could depend on you,’ Manny said without taking his eyes off the road.
‘No problem, Manny,’ Ben answered, and he too stared straight ahead.
‘Those fuckers - I think I’ll be giving Maidstone a miss,’ Manny laughed.
‘Yeh,’ Ben answered, and he too laughed.
When the laughter died down Manny leaned across and tapped Ben on the back. ‘Let’s go back to my place, Ben, we’ll snort a line and have a couple of laughs. What do yeh say, mate?’
‘Nah, Manny, not tonight, man. I’m really tired. If yeh just drop me off in Harlesden I’d appreciate it.’
‘Sure, Ben, sure.’
‘Yeh don’t mind, Manny, d’yeh?‘
‘No, no way, Ben, I really am very thankful for what yeh did tonight, Ben. You’re a good mate, and I’ll show my appreciation in the right way at the weekend.’
‘Ah it’s nothin’! Sure, you’d do the same for me, Manny,‘ Ben swiftly put in, half-knowing this was not the case.
After dropping Ben off, Manny drove straight back to his apartment on the Edgeware Road. The police car was still there and as he locked his car Manny gave the policemen a little wave. They looked back at him, their faces full of scorn. Manny laughed loudly and slammed the front door of the building.
On the first floor an apartment door opened, and the head of an elderly man popped out. ‘I say, there, is it necessary to make so much noise each time you enter the building?’ he asked. It was obvious from his tone that he had once been a man of authority, probably army. Never the less, it had taken him months to pluck up the courage to confront this man who lived in the apartment above his own. Like the other residents in the building the old soldier knew exactly who this man was and how dangerous he was. But, enough was enough, a man had to make a stand sometime.
Manny climbed the first flight of stairs to where the old man was and put his face right up to the old guy’s. ‘If you don’t like it, Pop, then fuckin’ move.’
The man closed his door without reply. He was shaking.
Manny bounded up the remaining stairs and noisily let himself into his apartment. He removed his coat, tossed it on the couch, went to the stereo and pushed a button. Lights came on and the speakers came alive with Nat King Cole singing ‘When I Fall In Love’. Manny then went to the drinks cabinet, filled a crystal glass with ice and poured a good four fingers of Scotch into it. Even as he took his first swig he was walking towards the bathroom. He gave the knob one swift turn, the shower gurgled and then began to spit out hot steaming water.
After his shower, Manny came from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, a second smaller towel which he used to dry his hair in one hand and the Scotch in the other hand. He placed his glass on the table, bent down, and whirled the combination wheel of his safe. As soon as he opened the door he knew there was something wrong. He could tell instinctively that there was a good wadge of money missing, and when he reached his hand back into the darkness to where the tray was, he could feel no foil-wrapped packages. He stood erect and screamed, ‘The bastard!’
Nearly four hours had passed since Manny had dropped Ben Daly off at the TV rental shop. Manny stood in front of the apartment door above the shop. He leaned his back against the wall, raised his leg and slammed his heel into the door just above the lock. It flew open. Manny found exactly what he expected to find. Ben Daly, or whoever he was, was gone.
For the next few days Manny had his runners scouring London for Ben Daly. He also hired a couple of thugs to keep round-the-clock watch on both Heathrow and Gat wick airports. He even got in touch with some mates of his in Liverpool who had agreed, for a small fee, to shoot down to Holyhead for a few days and keep an eye on the departures there. Manny was convinced that Ben Daly, like all animals on the run, would head for home.
Luckily, Manny had a photograph of Ben. It was a shot taken by one of those sidewalk photographers as he and Ben were leaving The Mean Fiddler one night. He had copies of the photograph made and distributed to all the runners. He tried over the next few days to keep business going as normal, but Ben’s betrayal was eating through his stomach like acid. Every spare moment Manny Wise had, he spent either at the train stations or at one of the airports in the hope that he would see Ben.
Three weeks after Ben’s disappearance hopes of finding him were looking grim. Manny had called off the Liverpool boys, his city runners had all come back with no good news and Manny had taken to just dropping by the airports himself the odd time.
‘Some day - you little bastard!’ Manny mumbled to himself as he walked across the concourse at Departures in Heathrow terminal. He was looking for a newsagent’s to get a paper. He went into WH Smith‘s, only to find they didn’t have a
Standard
left. The girl suggested that their shop down in Arrivals might have one, so with nothing else to do, Manny took the escalator down.
He was halfway down when he saw him. He had dyed his hair and had cleaned himself up, but there was no doubt about it, it was Ben Daly. Manny kept cool. At the bottom of the escalator he half-hid behind a circular pillar and watched as the disguised figure of Ben Daly walked up and down, glancing at his watch. When the figure turned his back to Manny, Manny quickly began to move towards him. The flick-knife in his hand up his right sleeve clicked and the gleaming stiletto-like blade barely protruded from his hand.