Ronny propped himself up and squinted at Eddie through one eye. ‘Sorry if I was a bit out of order last night. Jess is a top girl and I really do want you to be happy.’
Eddie smiled. ‘Forget it. Now get your fucking arse in gear, I’m starving.’
A full English fry-up was followed by the trip to their local. As Eddie walked in, he was relieved to see that the pub still looked intact. John, the guv’nor, was out, so he got the lowdown off Betsy, the barmaid.
‘They never touched the bar area, but the sinks in the gents were pulled off the wall. Dirty, foul-mouthed bastards they were. You should have heard the things they were saying to Kim, the pretty new barmaid. She burst into tears in the end and I had to send her home.’
Eddie ordered himself and Ronny a drink. ‘Did they cause agg with any of the regulars?’ he asked.
Betsy shook her head. ‘All the regulars left soon after they arrived. They were so bloody loud, no one could hear themselves think.’
Eddie told Betsy to keep the change and thanked her for the information. ‘Tell John I’ll pop back and see him tomorrow. And if anyone comes in asking for protection money, tell him not to pay it.’
‘You don’t think they’ll come back, do you?’ Betsy asked. ‘Only, I’m in here on me own till tonight.’
‘I doubt it. We’ll have to pay ’em a little visit, let ’em know they’re not welcome.’
Betsy smiled. She loved Eddie Mitchell: he was handsome, had a real presence about him and she wished she was twenty years younger.
Eddie and Ronny left the Flag and drove straight over to Whitechapel.
Auntie Joan let them in and gave them both a big hug. ‘Your father, brothers and Uncle Reg are already upstairs. You go on up and I’ll bring you up some tea and sandwiches.’
Eddie got straight down to business. His dad, Uncle Reg and brothers sat quietly as the story of the O’Haras unfolded. No one said a word until he’d finished, then Ronny was the first to speak.
‘They’re obviously trying it on on our turf again. I bet they go round all our boozers and start demanding protection money. I think we should go in the Chobham with shooters. Can you imagine their faces if the five of us walked in armed?’
Harry Mitchell looked at Ronny as though he’d just crawled out from under a stone. ‘Shut up, you idiot. The Chobham’s their fucking headquarters, they’ll have so many witnesses backing ’em up, we’ll be nicked within an hour.’
Ronny felt his face redden. His dad had a wonderful way of putting him down and treating him like an imbecile in front of the rest of the family. He never did that to Eddie. Whenever he came out with an idea, his old man listened intently.
‘All right to come in, boys?’
Harry jumped up and answered the door to Joan.
‘That plate is ham and the other one’s salmon. I baked you some rock cakes and there’s more downstairs if you want them.’
Harry smiled as he took the trays off Joan. When his beautiful wife had been so cruelly taken from him, her sister had taken over from where she’d left off. She’d cooked, cleaned, washed, ironed and even taken care of the boys for him. Harry had never forgotten her kindness and had seen her all right over the years. When her husband, Alf, had run off with another woman, Harry had had him kneecapped and paid up her mortgage for her. Alf was now confined to a wheelchair, lived alone and was unable to walk, let alone run, the fucking arsehole.
As Harry munched away on a ham sandwich, he came to a decision. He’d leave the boys out of this one and sort it out himself. Butch O’Hara had shaken hands with him and called a truce, which had now been broken. Therefore, it should be Butch that was made to pay.
Pouring himself a cup of sugary, strong tea, Harry sipped it in almost a ladylike fashion and then wiped his mouth with a serviette.
‘Right, I’ve come to a decision,’ he said.
As always, the table fell silent as the head of the family spoke. ‘I don’t want yous boys involved in this one. I had a deal with Butch and it’ll be him that pays.’
Paulie was the first to speak. ‘You can’t do it alone, Dad. His sons are always with him, you’ll need back-up.’
‘You’re not a teenager any more,’ Ronny told his father.
Harry thumped his fist on the table. ‘I’m fifty-five, not fucking ninety. Now, I want you all to take note of what I’m saying. I am sorting this one out alone and if any of yous starts your own war with Jimmy O’Hara or any of the others behind my back, you’ll have me to answer to.’
No one argued. When Harry Mitchell gave out orders, he was always obeyed.
‘How you gonna collar Butch on his own?’ Eddie asked.
Harry smiled. ‘Every Wednesday morning Butch travels alone up to Southhall horse market. It’s his only day away from the boys. The horsebox he goes in isn’t kept on the site, he keeps it in a lock-up around the corner. He leaves really early, about half-five and I’m gonna wait for him at the lock-up.’
Reg nodded. He loved the idea. ‘What you gonna do? Frighten him or finish him off?’
Harry shrugged. ‘I dunno. Butch is probably totally unaware that his boys have been performing on our territory. I might just shoot him in the foot, give him a little warning. Mind you, if we have any repercussions, I’ll blow his fucking brains out.’
‘Why don’t you just blow his brains out anyway?’ Ronny said, laughing.
Harry ignored his idiotic son. ‘Oh, one more thing before we go. I’m gonna need a driver to come with me. You up for it, Eddie?’
‘Sure, Dad. When do you wanna do it, this Wednesday coming?’
Harry pondered momentarily. ‘I think we’ll leave it till the following week. They might be waiting for repercussions and we want them to enjoy a nice little surprise.’
Ronny glanced at Paulie. Neither said anything, but both were thinking the same thing. At thirty-six, Paul was the oldest. Ronny was thirty-three, yet Eddie, the youngest, was the golden fucking boy.
Reg clocked Ronny’s annoyance and looked away. He was Harry’s younger brother and had always been in his shadow, yet it had never bothered him. He didn’t mind Paulie, he was OK, but Ronny was a moron and Reg made a mental note to keep a close eye on him. For months, he’d noticed him becoming more and more jealous of Eddie and it wasn’t on – they were brothers, for fuck’s sake.
With the meeting over, everybody said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.
Joyce glanced at the clock and opened the oven door. She tested the knife in her fruit cake and, happy it was properly cooked, put it on the kitchen top to cool down. Eddie was due to pick her daughter up soon, and she’d baked it especially for him.
Sitting in his armchair, Stanley was unable to concentrate on Hawaii Five-O. Usually, he was glued to anything Steve McGarrett did, but today the only thing he could concentrate on was that smarmy bastard who would shortly be picking his daughter up.
Stanley hadn’t been able to sleep properly the previous night and, when he had dozed off, he’d had nightmares about Harry Mitchell. He’d dreamt that Mitchell had taken out his eye instead of Roger Dodds’.
His nightmare had only come to an end when Joyce punched him in the side of the head. ‘What you screaming out and fidgeting for? You silly old bastard,’ she’d said.
Stan had ignored her and gone downstairs to make himself a cup of tea. He’d sat up the rest of the night, frightened to