The Good Life (28 page)

Jason Biggs was in a club he owned in Manchester town centre and, as usual, he was the centre of attention. This was his natural habitat and he loved to be in the midst of the young girls and cronies, on show for the up-and-coming fuckers who needed to know that he wasn’t going anywhere in the near future. A lot of villainy was about fronting everyone else out. He was a marvel in many respects. He looked and acted the part so well; no one in their right mind would challenge him.

Biggs had a wife called Bernice who was a small and dark Italian firebrand. It was said that once, in a temper, she had ripped the hair off the head of a girl twice her size, and it had taken three men to drag her away from the unfortunate female. It was also said that, even though he played away at every available opportunity, Biggs loved his wife with a deep and abiding affection. A few wags had also mentioned that he was scared of her, and anyone who saw Bernice lose her temper would agree with that statement. They had three young sons and a daughter, who were the light of Jason’s life.

Tonight, though, he was just out for a drink and a look at the local talent. He had his eye on a tall blonde with brand new tits and an expensive set of teeth. Her only drawback was her Birkenhead accent. It wasn’t adding to the package in any way, but he felt he could overlook it if it meant getting his hands in her lacy little drawers.

His three brothers, Jack, Joe and Jeremy, were all in attendance as usual, and he was regaling them with his usual brand of humour and exacting wit.

‘I had me hand up her skirt and she punched me right in the face. I said, “Hold up, girl! What’s your problem?” and she said, “Where’s your fucking manners? Tits first!”’

Everyone cracked up with laughter, except for a few of the newer girlfriends, who felt the barb might have been aimed at them.

These days, Jason was a very satisfied man. He had wanted to get shot of the Osman brothers for a while, and it looked like that could be on the cards. He had always thought the world of Cain Moran. Cain was a man he admired – he had taken his knocks on the chin and he didn’t fucking piss and moan about his situation, he just got on with it. His wife, that Jenny Riley as was, was a star and all. His own little Italian lunatic would be straight on the trot if he ever got a lump like that. It was a measure of Moran that his bird had stuck by him all those years; it spoke volumes about who he was and the kind of loyalty he could inspire.

Loyalty was a big thing to Jason Biggs. He had a devoted workforce and that was largely because having four brothers working in unity was a very powerful thing. It was about making sure that people knew the consequences of their actions – and a few kneecappings certainly sorted out the men from the boys. Jason Biggs had learned from very early on that there was no better way to instil loyalty into people than by making examples of those who did not make the grade. It was also about paying a good wage and keeping a good eye on your workforce – that much he had learned from Cain Moran. He had always refused to do business with that two-faced cunt Peter Parkes. There was a line, and that ponce had crossed it.

Now, though, Jason Biggs was confident that his life would be even richer. He was about to hold the Turks and the Russians to ransom, and that could only get him a better deal on the drugs front. Cain Moran was a realist – he would sort out the latest drama with the minimum of fuss.

He was well pleased with how he’d played this hand. As his old mum used to say when they were kids, ‘If you don’t ask, you don’t fucking get.’ He couldn’t have put it better himself. Jason was no mug and he wasn’t going to settle for anything less than life at the top.

Ali Osman was in his flat in Soho with his current girlfriend. He loved blondes – real blondes with blue eyes – not the pretend ones with dark eyes and black hair everywhere but their fucking heads. He preferred them natural, not too tall, and well built in terms of tits and arse. His latest squeeze, Tiffany, was the real deal and, though she had little in the way of conversation, she was right up his street. Ali was in no mood to talk tonight anyway; he was out of sorts, still smarting from his brother’s refusal to listen to him.

As they sat on Ali’s black leather sofa drinking expensive whisky it occurred to him that he was gradually being rowed out. Cain Moran was taking his place at Hasan’s side, and that was not a good omen for the future. Hasan seemed to be paying more and more attention to Cain’s opinions rather than his own brother’s. He was feeling distinctly left out of everything.

Tiffany watched her beau as he drank steadily. He was practically ignoring her, but she wasn’t bothered. She was a trophy bird and happy with that. When he stripped her off later in the evening, the fact that she was blonde both collar and cuffs would be enough to get her what she wanted from him as usual. It wasn’t rocket science, and she had no interest in anything he had to say anyway. He was hardly Stephen Hawking.

Nevertheless, she was picking up a bad vibe and she couldn’t tell if it was directed at her. Ali wasn’t the best lover she had ever had but he was certainly willing. Anyway it was his reputation she was most attracted to. She watched him frowning, getting drunker and drunker, and she wondered if it was time to move on. She lit a cigarette, passing it to him, and he took it gratefully.

Ali was wondering if Cain Moran would be on the phone to his older brother at that very moment, telling him what they should and shouldn’t do. It was galling to think of Hasan suddenly so enamoured of every word that came out of Cain Moran’s mouth.

He took a wrap of cocaine out of his wallet and started to cut it on the glass-topped table before him. He noticed Tiffany buck up at this; she did like a line, did his Tiffany. It didn’t occur to him that his cocaine use might be affecting how far Hasan was willing to trust his judgement. Since he had met Tiffany and discovered a taste for his own product, Ali had been acting in a very paranoid and secretive manner. Hasan had tried to talk to him, but he wasn’t interested in what he had to say. He snorted two lines quickly, before passing the rolled up fifty-pound note to Tiffany who had a nose like a vacuum. She snorted a couple of lines herself, then watched as he started to recut the rest of the wrap. This was more like it, now the party was really starting.

But Ali wasn’t a happy bunny, and when she took off her dress a little while later he realised that he couldn’t raise a pint of Guinness, let alone anything else.

Tiffany went home shortly after with a frown on her face and her cab fare in her purse.

Jenny had picked up her dry cleaning, paid most of her workers and was now at home preparing a meal to officially welcome Linda into the family. Molly and Eileen would be coming too. This was such a milestone and she was thrilled to be doing it for them. It was bittersweet though without Cain there too.

Molly and Jenny were civil to each other these days, even if they had never managed to get back on the same footing after Freddie Marks’s death. Though Jenny and Cain had moved on, she could never forgive Molly for what she had done. What had hurt the most was that the woman she had loved and cared about had asked her nothing about the situation before running to her son. The tales she’d told had nearly cost Jenny her relationship with Cain, and it had certainly destroyed the trust between her and Molly. She would never stop Molly seeing her grandchild, but to know that she had condoned the death of such a vibrant young man had shown Jenny where the woman’s priorities lay. There had been a small chance that Cain might have taken Jenny out as well, and Molly had to have known that when she grassed them up. It was a difficult situation, but Jenny Moran made the best of it. The closeness they had shared was long gone, but Molly was still her mother-in-law and nothing would change that fact. Still, the affection that had once been between them had cooled considerably.

Eileen, in contrast, had become her daughter’s biggest champion and ally in their world. She worked for Jenny now – or thought she did at least – as a bar manager in one of the nightclubs, which paid well. Everyone else knew the real manager was a young Irishman called Colm Holmes. He got an extra payment to run the place efficiently, and to let Eileen Riley think that she made the decisions. It had been a big boost for her; she was paying income tax for the first time in her life instead of finding herself at the mercy of the benefits system. The only thing that Eileen wouldn’t do was move out of her council flat. She felt safe there with all her cronies around her.

Needless to say, Molly wasn’t on Eileen’s list of top ten people to mix with but, for Jenny’s sake, she tolerated her whenever she had to. It was a shame that the family had become so divided, but what could Molly Moran expect? She had committed the ultimate piss-take and that could never be forgotten.

Jenny had cooked a roast beef dinner and, as she carried the food into the dining room, she smiled expectantly at her son and his bride-to-be. Needless to say, Linda had accepted Cain Junior’s proposal and he was beyond thrilled. This was going to be a real celebration for them all. Even though Cain Junior and Linda had only been together a few months, anyone with eyes in their head could see they were a wonderful match.

As she looked at them all around the dinner table, Jenny felt happier than she had in years. Her family was growing – what more could anyone ask for in life? Her only sorrow was that Cain couldn’t be there to join them, though he would ring later and congratulate the happy couple. It wasn’t perfect by any means but it worked for them. And soon they would be one big happy family together again. It was all Jenny could hope for in this life she had chosen.

Cain Moran was having his own celebration of his son’s engagement with the men on his wing. He had cooked a leg of lamb, accompanied by potatoes and vegetables, as well as the inevitable chips. He had never managed to talk the older men into healthier eating. For dessert he had made a cheesecake. There were a few familiar faces around the dining table, and some new ones who had been sentenced in the last few years.

Blokko was now up in Durham; the funny peacekeeper had battered a young Irish lad to within an inch of his life over a marrow of all things. It was an amusing enough story, but the ending had not been to anyone’s satisfaction. On the plus side, Cain still had a few old cronies from his youth at Parkhurst to keep him company. He was back on top and that was something he would never take for granted. He liked that he had the respect and status he wanted once more and, as he neared the twenty-year mark, only another five awaited. There was still a long way to go but at least he hadn’t lost everything while inside in terms of his work and his life. And now he was well past the half-way mark – an achievement in itself.

All the same, it was hard to think that his son would be bringing his fiancée round tonight to officially meet the family without Cain there. But he would pop her name on a Visiting Order and meet her soon enough. Thank God she wasn’t straight; fuck knew how that might have turned out. He had heard of men whose children’s spouses had refused to visit them in prison, and even tried to stop their children from coming in. Obviously that kind of situation never got sorted to
everyone
’s satisfaction. Once the offending party had been given a serious talking to, the kids were usually allowed to visit.

He poured everyone a glass of Barolo wine and raised his own with pride. ‘To my son’s engagement. And to his lovely fiancée, Linda.’

The men joined Cain in his toast, but there was a feeling of sadness at the table – especially for those with young children, who were reminded that it would be years before they saw them on the out again. Like Cain Moran, they would spend the best part of their kids’ lives imprisoned while the people they loved went on with their lives. It was a sobering thought in more ways than one.

‘So how is it going to work? Have you spoken to your brief about compassionate leave for the wedding?’

Cain nodded. ‘Oh, yeah. I’ve never been out, not even for a funeral, so he reckons I will get it. I hope so. I would hate to miss Cain Junior’s big day.’ He placed a large forkful of lamb in his mouth before continuing seriously, ‘I ain’t never even appealed before, have I? I’ve done everything I was supposed to do. I will tell the parole board when the time comes that I am sorry for any trouble I’ve caused, any old pony and trap they want to hear. It’s the only way to survive – play the fucking game, abide by the rules.’

The men nodded in agreement.

‘Then once you are back on the out, all bets are off!’

They cracked up at that.

Desmond Harker, a tall black Mancunian with a head full of dreadlocks and a winning smile, said jovially, ‘I agree. The day the judge gave me the eighteen years, my mum told him, “It ain’t my boy, it’s the people he hung around with!” I fucking didn’t live that one down for years. She still believes it as well.’

The men were laughing. It was even funnier because Desmond Harker was a criminal mastermind of the bank robbing persuasion. But he was a good bloke and very friendly with Jason Biggs, so his friendship with Cain on the inside suited them both. The fact that he and Cain were of a similar age and background had cemented their friendship almost immediately. Cain got insight into Jason through Des’s knowledge of the man – and that was invaluable when dealing with him on a day-to-day basis. They were close mates now, who enjoyed each other’s company. They were also the most senior men on the wing, which meant they were often the arbiters of petty squabbles, arranging for any contraband needed by the other men.

Tonight Cain Moran was feeling the effects of his long incarceration. It was always missing the family get-togethers that was the hardest to bear, Christmas and New Year being the worst. Cain Moran knew of a man who hanged himself for missing his only daughter’s First Communion. A staunch Catholic, he had committed the ultimate sin while depressed and alone on the block. It was a scandalous thing, and the POs had been wary for a long time afterwards. They were aware that the other men blamed them for separating the bloke from his friends when he needed them most. He was being punished for nutting a prison officer, but what followed would not have happened if he had been given a few hours out to see his daughter on her big day. They could take men who were as hard as fuck, and bring them down so low they were willing to end it all.