Chapter Eight
Phillip Murphy was really angry, but as usual he kept his feelings to himself. He understood only too well the value of blandness; in his job, the less people could gauge about you the less they could put away for future reference. Consequently, no matter what he was paid to do, he did it quietly, quickly and, most importantly, without expressing any kind of opinion whatsoever. He was already getting a reputation as a good earner. As someone who took the job on offer and didn't ask questions either way and, more to the point, didn't feel the urge to discuss it with all and sundry.
His attitude was it wasn't any of his business and, for that reason, he had no interest in the history of the people involved. He wasn't in the market for hearing grievances or explanations. He wanted his poke, and he would happily carry out what was requested of him to get it without a prolonged discussion. He prided himself on his knack for not caring about the people involved - not the people who paid him, and
definitely
not the people he was paid to visit.
Until now, that was.
It didn't mean he wasn't aware of the situations he had been asked to deal with. He always knew exactly what the score was, he just never asked the person concerned why they wanted his services. The fact that he expected a very nice fee for what he did spoke volumes. His price told the person who needed his expertise that he knew exactly what was going on, but that he didn't let it cloud his judgement in any way. If he wasn't
told
anything it was assumed he did not
know
anything. It was simple economics. He just wanted his money, he was not a fucking agony aunt. This endeared him to people because they knew he never discussed his work, and never felt the need to prove himself by running off his mouth. And his brothers were the same. But most petty Faces were banged up because they couldn't resist opening their traps. They needed people to know who they were and what they were capable of. Liked to name-drop the people they were working for, liked the fact that they felt a bit of reflected glory. Real Faces were too shrewd to let anyone know anything, no matter how big or how small. It was enough for
them
to know they had done it and got away with it; they certainly didn't feel the need to broadcast it to the fucking nation.
Now here he was, standing before Stan Barclay, a man he had grown up respecting, a man his father had always spoken of in hushed tones, and he was asking Phillip to do something that was not only against the grain, but an insult to boot. There wasn't much Phillip wouldn't do, but even he had his limit. He knew that Stan was relying on his reputation for discretion, and he understood that it was that reputation that had brought him to Stan's attention. But he was not about to be used by him. Being given a job that Stan would be chary of giving to his regular workforce said it all as far as he was concerned. Even though it would enable Phillip to step up into the world of serious villainy, as Stan had repeatedly pointed out to him. What Stan didn't realise, however, was that Phillip knew that Stan would make sure what he was asking him to do was never made public. That meant that Phillip himself would be a target once the job was completed. Stan was betting on his greed and that he would be too dense to work out the bottom line. Phillip was young and he was hungry, but Stan Barclay had made a mistake in thinking he was also stupid. This was a poser, this was a real dilemma. But he had to ask the question.
'Are you sure about this, Stan?'
Stan Barclay nodded his huge head; he looked like an oversized shelf stacker, not a criminal mastermind. He had a huge workforce and a large slice of the pie that was London. He also had an Achilles heel, and now that Phillip knew what it was he knew he had to act quickly. Stan Barclay was not going to wait around for him to put two and two together. Even Phillip was secretly impressed; if Stan had him removed, who would even suspect he was a part of it? It would be assumed he had upset one of the powers-that-be and had been taken care of. It would not be seen as important. He was a young pup, and the word would be put round that he had upset the wrong person.
'This is not something I was expecting. How much
after
the job's done?' Phillip said the words with the arrogance he knew Stan would expect. He was well aware that Stan had no intention of paying him a fucking brass razoo. Any front money would be reacquired after his demise.
Stanley Barclay smiled slightly as he opened his arms in a gesture of open-handed generosity. 'Thirty grand after, ten in cash today.'
Phillip nodded, his face didn't betray his real thoughts. 'Where is she? Where's the best place to find her?'
Stan grinned, happy in the knowledge he had sorted out another problem with the least amount of aggro and the maximum amount of camaraderie. He was sorry in a way; this kid was good but, like all good generals, Stan had to understand the term 'collateral damage'.
Chapter Nine
Veronica looked at her son's girlfriend, saw the bruises on her face, and the sorrow in her eyes. If she was honest, she didn't blame Eileen Booth for her reaction; she was truthful enough to admit she wouldn't want her daughter to come home with men like her sons.
But Phillip loved this girl. Trouble was she was only fifteen. And now, she was on the doorstep refusing to go home.
Christine was battered and bruised, and she needed someone to look out for her. Eileen Booth was an eejit, she should realise she was driving the girl away. Everyone knew about Christine and Phillip. They were the talk of the estate.
Christine's parents were well known too. Ted Booth's supermarket was just down the road. Ted treated everyone with respect. He allowed tick to some people, and he had a knack of refusing others in a way that didn't cause them to retaliate. He had always had a Christmas Club, and everyone knew he was meticulous about the money that was paid in. She herself had been a part of it for longer than she cared to remember. It was his wife that people had the problem with. Eileen Booth made a point of lording it over everyone who came into what she referred to as 'her establishment'; she made sure that everyone knew she thought they were beneath her. So Veronica could be forgiven for finding a small measure of satisfaction in having Eileen's daughter in her front room, determined not to go home for love nor money.
She made Christine a cup of tea, and held her hand until Phillip came home. She knew this girl didn't have any idea of just how deep her son already was in the criminal world, didn't know how deep they
all
were in that world. Herself included. She also knew that, like her at fifteen, this girl looked like a woman but, unlike Veronica, Christine didn't have the brains she was born with. She had been too sheltered all her life, and as much as Veronica was fond of her, she knew Christine was far too naive for her own good.
Chapter Ten
'Are you all right, Phil?' James was not the most vocal of men, but even he had sussed that Phillip was not right.
Phillip shrugged. 'No, not really, Jamsie. I think we need to talk to Billy Bantry, he's usually at his gym about this time.'
Jamsie started the car, uneasy now. Billy Bantry was seriously big time, and no one went to him unless they had an invitation. He was not known for his light-hearted banter or his friendly personality. He was, however, known for his short temper, and his unwillingness to suffer fools gladly.
As they approached the gym in North London, Phillip said gently, 'Park round the back, I don't want to be seen going in the front door. Then I want you to go home and wait for me there, OK?'
Jamsie parked the BMW neatly then, turning to his brother, he said, 'I ain't going nowhere without you, Phil.'
Phillip smiled, pleased at his brother's loyalty; Jamsie wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was someone you could depend on and he appreciated that.
'This could all turn pear-shaped, Jamsie. I warn you.'
Jamsie shrugged easily 'Whatever. You're me brother, I ain't about to let you walk in on your Jack Jones, am I?'
'I appreciate that, Jamsie.'
'So what's this all about?'
Phillip grinned then. 'I can't tell you. You'll have to trust me.'
Jamsie didn't even think about what had been said. He answered immediately, 'Fair enough.'
Phillip took a deep breath, then opened the car door slowly 'Wish me luck, bruv.'
As he spoke the back door of the offices opened and two of Billy Bantry's minders walked towards him. He was impressed by their speed. They had to have been looking out for someone acting suspicious, or more to the point someone who had the nerve to park in the car park and, even worse, who wasn't invited, let alone welcome.
'Is Mr Bantry about?'
The older of the two men answered him with a sneer. 'Why, who are you, the fucking police?'
Chapter Eleven
Billy Bantry was not a big man, but he was heavy-set and possessed what was known as an uncompromising personality. He was frightened of no one, and that came across within ten seconds of meeting him. He was a dour, dark-eyed Irishman. Unlike his compatriots he rarely drank, and he rarely had a tale to tell. His life revolved around his work and his family. He was a dedicated family man. His eldest son was halfway through a degree at Oxford University, and his eldest daughter was married to an idiot on daytime TV. He had two more children by his long-time mistress, and they went to Ampleforth; unlike him, the mistress was a devout Catholic.
As he stared now at Phillip Murphy he seemed devoid of any emotion whatsoever, and Phillip realised that this man could teach him more in a week than most men could in a year. Billy Bantry was that rare breed, the serious loner. He needed no one at all, except the people he employed, and they were paid far too well to ever be tempted away. Plus Billy would never forgive them leaving him, no matter what the circumstances. He owned them.
Bantry regarded young Phillip Murphy through slitted eyes. He had heard good things about him, and he was intrigued as to why the boy had come to him like this. He was not known as an approachable man, he had made sure of that over the years. He had no interest in small talk or gossip. Anything he needed to know he found out with the minimum of fuss and, if necessary, the maximum of pain. So this boy coming to him like this out of the blue had to mean something. He hoped he wasn't going to waste his time asking him for a job, but from what he had heard about Phillip he was too shrewd to try that old fanny.
'Can I speak to you in private, Mr Bantry?' Phillip was nervous, and he was sure the others in the room would pick up on it.
Billy Bantry looked at the lad; he was a lump, no mistaking. But he also seemed a decent enough kid in many respects. He didn't sense any fear or skulduggery emanating from him. In fact, the boy seemed genuine. He was apprehensive, that much was clear. But Phillip was still there, and he had the balls to ask him for his time. That alone impressed Bantry. He waved his two henchmen away, and they left the small office quietly and unquestioningly. Phillip liked that, understood clearly they thought Bantry could take care of himself should the need arise. He knew he was lucky to get this far, but that was the chance he had taken.
'So what do you want, Murphy, and make it quick. I have a notoriously low threshold for boredom.'
'You know a girl called Lisa Mercer, right?'
Billy Bantry didn't move a muscle. 'So what, what about her?'
'She's five months pregnant by Stanley Barclay.'
'And?'
'He wants me to take her out, her and her baby. Offered me forty grand in all. Ten up front, I have that in the car, and thirty afterwards. But I know I wouldn't live long enough to get the rest of the money. I also have no intention of murdering a woman, especially not a pregnant one. I didn't know what to do, then I remembered that she had been rumoured to have had a friendship with you. Just a rumour, mind, and I wondered if you would be kind enough to give me some advice. I keep everything close to my chest and Barclay is relying on that. But,
Mr Bantry, I will do a lot of things for a lot of money, but murdering babies ain't in my resume.'
Billy Bantry was nodding his head; Phillip hoped it was in agreement with what he was saying. Bantry sighed heavily. 'Barclay's scum, always has been. Five months gone? She tried her hardest, but was never going to score the big one. Good- looking girl, though. Nice natured. You did the right thing, Phillip. Women and children have no real place in our world. They are off-limits. So you assume your reputation for never questioning a job was what he was relying on?'
Phillip nodded.
'He must be desperate if he's giving you ten grand up front. Have you ever killed anyone before?'
Phillip shook his head. 'Not yet, no.'
'Do you think you could?'
Phillip nodded, which made Billy Bantry laugh. 'Keep the ten grand, you've earned it. I'll sort out Barclay, the treacherous cunt. Lisa's old man's in Dartmoor, she had no real father figure, so I've always kept an eye out for her in me own way. But you knew that, that's why you came to me.'
Phillip didn't say a word in response. Bantry liked that the boy didn't try and explain himself. He had heard good things about this kid, and he was happy to give him a helping hand.
'Report to me here on Saturday morning, seven o'clock and don't be late. I think you are worth a chance, son, but remember, with me, you only get the
one
chance.'
Phillip was thrilled at the turn of events. He had taken a big risk, and had known that it could have gone either way. But for all that, he was never going to kill a pregnant woman. Especially one who had friends in high places.