Chapter Fifty-Four
Ricky was annoyed. He had drunk too much, and a warning voice was telling him that he should leave it. But he couldn't back down in front of Deandra, she was his wife, he couldn't act like a frightened schoolboy, and he didn't want to anyway. Why the fuck should he? There was no law that said he had to sell to Phillip Murphy; that was his choice, and he chose not to. What the fuck was the big deal? He had a lot of mates, Faces, who would stand behind him on this. Word on the street was a lot of people were fed up with Phillip Murphy anyway. He had trampled on a lot of people, and made a ton of fucking enemies over the last few years.
'You've disappointed me, Ricky. I assumed this was going to be a very convivial arrangement because me and you both know that it's the right thing to do. I was even going to offer you a percentage for ten years to sweeten the pot.' Phillip was shaking his head now, as if he was the victim of the most outrageous skulduggery imaginable and he did not look happy about it.
Ricky noticed that Declan was avoiding eye contact with him, Deandra and Christine were both mortified, and somehow Ricky felt it was all his fault. This just incensed him even more; he felt like he was the bad bastard now and all he was doing was trying to protect his earn, that was hardly a fucking crime. He was looking out for his own, it was a natural reaction.
'I'm sorry you feel that way, Phillip, and I'm sorry it's come to this, but I own the arcades and I don't want to sell them. End of. You've got more than enough to keep you occupied. You've walked away with most of the fucking front as it is.' He started to poke his finger towards Phillip now, all common sense gone. 'And let me tell you, there's a few people who think you've already got too much.'
Declan got up suddenly and the scraping noise as he pushed back his chair was loud and threatening in the room. 'That's enough, Ricky, shut the fuck up before you go too far. Why are you making this so personal, eh? What have we ever done to you for you to treat us like this?' He was pointing his finger right into the man's face and it was evident to everyone that he was barely holding his temper together. What he was really doing though was taking the onus off Phillip, because Phillip could quite easily get out of his own chair, pick up the boning knife, and gut Ricky like a fish over what he had just said.
Ricky sat back in amazement. All caution gone now as the anger enveloped him. 'Oh, so we've got muppet number two now, have we? You fucking listen to me, the pair of you. I own the fucking arcades,
me.
And I ain't aiming them out for you or anyone else, and that, my friends, is called
my
fucking prerogative.
Mine.
Not yours, not your big brother's or fucking Ring Street Charlie's, it's
mine.
Now I came here to tell you no, and I thought that would be that. All grown-ups together, a big so what, and see you around. I never expected to have you demand what's mine, because you can demand till the cows come home, you ain't fucking getting it.'
Declan was watching Phillip closely now; he hoped he would keep it together, for all their sakes. Phillip was a wild card at the best of times, and it wasn't sensible to front him up like that. Ricky should know better. Declan was aware that it was only Christine's presence that was stopping Phillip from killing this mad cunt like a rabid dog.
Phillip wiped a hand across his face; he looked hurt, devastated and like a puppy who had been kicked by a gang of glue-sniffing skinheads.
'I am amazed at you attacking me like this, Rick, and please, who are the people who think I've got enough? Who the fuck are they to tell me what I can and can't own, eh? You know where to come when you get strong-armed. Phillip Murphy will sort it out. "Oh, Phil, someone's threatening me, or they're selling drugs on my premises." I'm all right then though, ain't I? When I am doing you all fucking favours. I am trying to build myself an enterprise, I never made a fucking secret of it. That front has never been run better - there's less violence, less fucking scamming, the punters feel safer and return with their families again and again. How you can accuse me of pushing in, I don't know, I have done every cunt there a favour in some way or another.
Tou
especially. You've got a short memory, Ricky. I bailed you out last year when you were being forced out of business by Micky Driscoll. I sorted him for you and, if I remember, you were more than grateful to get that mad cunt off your back. Well, if you don't fucking sell to
me
, I'll let him know you're open for business again, and you can fucking deal with him on your own, or with the fucking big mates you've suddenly acquired from somewhere. Now, get your coat and get out of my drum before this all really does go too far.'
Christine was still staring at the tablecloth, her heart hammering in her ears, fear spiralling up inside her. She knew Phillip was using all his considerable willpower not to physically attack Ricky in front of her.
Deandra was in outright shock, she couldn't believe what she had witnessed. Getting up unsteadily, she picked up her handbag and left the kitchen as quickly as possible, squeezing Christine's shoulder gently as she passed her.
Declan gestured for Ricky to go.
Ricky was like a man in a trance; he knew he had caused something bad, and he knew it was something that could never be resolved. Not now. He had, in effect, fucked himself from here to Barnsley, and the more that thought broke into his drink-filled mind the more the fear consumed him. He couldn't understand how this had happened. All right, Phillip had helped him out before and he had been grateful. But now he felt he was the one in the wrong because he should somehow feel honour bound to give Phillip Murphy what he had not wanted to give Micky Driscoll. What the fuck had occurred here? Why did he feel like he was the one in the wrong, and why was he suddenly convinced that he had just signed his own death warrant?
As he drove out of the electric gates, he was still reeling from the night's events. And it didn't help when Deandra said angrily, 'And you've got the cheek to say that I talk bollocks when I'm pissed!'
Chapter Fifty-Five
Christine was loading both her dishwashers, but her mind was still on the conversation at the table. She could hear Phillip talking as if he was amazed at what had taken place. He might be playing the innocent but she knew that Phillip would take those arcades by fair means or foul. He wanted them, and that was enough justification for him.
She was sad; she liked Deandra, and she was sorry that the night had descended into chaos. Still, the food had been blinding. Kind of like a last supper; well, for poor Ricky anyway. She allowed herself a small smile at that. She was cleaning up like a woman possessed; it was strange, but cleaning made her feel more in control of everything around her. Every drawer in the house was tidy, every wardrobe, every cupboard. The shrink said it was her way of coping with the chaos in her mind, the need for complete control over her environment. She thought he talked shite, but she wouldn't say that to him. She cleaned and cooked because it stopped her from thinking too much. She was done in no time and, pouring herself a large glass of port, she kissed her husband gently and said goodnight to him and his brother.
Phillip grabbed her arm, and kissed her hand. 'I'm sorry about that, Chris. All that work, that handsome grub, fucking too good for the likes of them.'
She shrugged, resigned to the inevitable. 'Well, you'll sort it all out, Phil. I'm going to have a nice bath and go to bed. See you tomorrow, Declan.'
She walked from the kitchen, and in the large entrance hall, she stopped by the antique bureau, opened the large leather address book and crossed out Deandra's home and mobile numbers. After all, she wasn't likely to be seeing her again in the near future, was she?
Chapter Fifty-Six
Breda was in a small drinking club; she was already well oiled, and the young Jamaican with her was keeping her supplied with rum and Coke. She knew she should leave but she was enjoying herself. She had already concluded her business, and meeting this young man, with the smiling eyes and the ready grin, was a nice diversion. It was a smart little club, well attended and only open to people with something to offer. It was a meeting place for the movers and shakers of the criminal underbelly and, as such, it had a decent clientele. Breda knew most of them and was making the most of the social aspect as well as the business contacts.
Phillip left her to deal with a lot of the day-to-day stuff, and she knew that he appreciated how well she handled it. She was thrilled about them acquiring the two new arcades, because that would mean they had the seafront at Southend basically sewn up. If they didn't own it, then they were paid a percentage by the renters to trade. It was a very lucrative and easy market. She had it well under control - she could run it in her sleep.
She was very surprised to get a text on her phone telling her to get round Phillip's immediately. Declan was not a drama queen so she knew something serious had occurred. She left immediately, regretting her drinking bout already, and determined to sober up before she got to Phillip's. But not before taking her young Jamaican's number and filing it away for future reference.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
'Will you come to bed, Ricky? Sitting here in the dark ain't going to change the night's events, is it?'
Deandra was worried, she had never seen Ricky like this before. He was usually so strong, and that was what had initially attracted her. She would never forget meeting him in the pub all that time ago. She had been seventeen, and he was in his forties. She had been bowled over by him. He dressed well, had money, and an interesting face; when he smiled he was almost handsome. He had talked to her,
really
talked to her, and the attraction between them had been instant and electric. She had fallen for him then and there, and she had fallen hard. He had kids older than her, and grandchildren older than her own kids. But it had worked because over the years even his daughters had realised she genuinely cared for him. He had been divorced a long time, and they had not believed he would ever marry again, especially not to a young girl like her. But they had weathered it, and now they were a big happy family. She was terrified now that this was all going to end because Ricky had fallen out with Phillip Murphy.
Her initial reading of Phillip had been right, he was the poison that would infect their lives. Her husband had basically thrown down the gauntlet to a man who was capable of literally anything. Now there was a threat hanging over them, and she feared it was going to crush them no matter what Ricky did to try and stop it.
'Please answer me at least, Ricky, I'm frightened.'
Ricky sighed in the darkness and, leaning forwards, he switched on a lamp. The light was soft and the room looked beautiful. Deandra had made the house lovely, their lives were wonderful, he had never been happier in his whole life than during the years he had spent with her. She had given him something he had never dreamed of: peace of mind, and the joy that comes with being with a woman he loved, admired and respected. And he did respect her, and he knew that she loved him wholeheartedly, and now, through his own fault, through his own vanity, he feared he would have to leave her and the children to cope without him. Because he had a terrible feeling that Phillip Murphy was not about to let this lie. In fact, he knew that the only way Phillip Murphy would be placated would be by his complete obliteration. His only chance was a massive grovel, and that was what he was now willing to do.
He had already decided that he was going to go back to the farm first thing in the morning, go straight to Phillip and apologise. But a little voice was telling him that it was too little too late. He was willing to do the biggest about-face since the Germans had conceded the war and, as hard as it would be, he knew he would do it to protect his family, and his way of life. Phillip Murphy already owned the arcades, that was a fact, all that was left now was giving them to him with the least aggravation and trying to get a decent price, because Phillip would want them for nix now. Ricky would be forced to sweeten the pot at the expense of his own lifestyle. It would be the only way he could walk away with any chance of retaining his life. The saddest part for him was that once he had sobered up, he couldn't think of one person he knew who would be willing to front Murphy up and stand beside him in his hour of need. That in itself was a sobering thought.
'I'm sorry about tonight, babe. I was pissed, I'll sort it all out tomorrow.'
She slipped on to the sofa beside him, and he automatically held her in his arms. He loved her so much. He could kick himself for worrying her like this. What the hell had he been thinking?
'Let him have them, Rick, nothing is worth all this, and anyway, we talked about you retiring and now seems the perfect opportunity. We could finally move to Spain, we've talked about it long enough. And I understand if we have to tighten our belts a bit, that won't bother me, as long as we're together, that's all that matters.'
He knew she meant every word and he felt the sting of tears at her utter loyalty to him and their marriage. 'We ain't going to be on our uppers, love, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same.'
He squeezed her to him again, and felt some of the tension leave her body. He knew she had mentioned Spain so he would have a legitimate reason for leaving the country and his problems behind. She was a good girl all right, bless her. He could only pray to God that he could salvage something from this mess, but he honestly didn't hold out much hope.