Ria nodded in agreement. Whoever said that the truth hurt didn’t know the half of it.

Chapter Fifty

Peter Bailey looked at his eldest son for long moments, then he barked at him angrily, ‘Did Daniel and the lads collect the money or not?’

Petey nodded warily. ‘Yeah, he started with Lance Porter and finished with Graham Black. Why the big fucking third degree all of a sudden? You know the boys were on to it. Who’s rattled your fucking cage?’

Peter sighed loudly. ‘It’s not the fucking boys I’m worried about, is it?’

‘Well, the boys have put the hard word on their old man, and he seems to be toeing the line, so I don’t know what else we can fucking say, Dad.’

‘I can never trust him, he’s such a fucking Looney Tunes. Radio rental, as they say. This is what I hate, wondering how far he’s gone. I am not sure the boys can handle him . . .’

Petey smiled. ‘I think they can, Dad. He knows they ain’t kids any more, he sees the sense of what they say. Danny reckons he has finally come around to their way of thinking.’

Peter laughed. ‘Oh, he thinks that, does he? Then he is an idiot. My brother Daniel is not a man who is easily thwarted. For example: when we were kids, a neighbour stole a pint of milk off our step. Daniel cut two of the fucker’s fingers off with a pair of secateurs. As far as he was concerned, the punishment fit the crime. The thing was, though, he waited ten fucking years to take his revenge. Do you see where I am coming from now? Daniel Bailey will never swallow his knob, and you need to take that onboard. He would cut his own sons’ throats if he thought they were mugging him off, and he would burn his Lena alive if he thought she had betrayed him. That is what we are dealing with. So you watch him like a fucking hawk, and you make sure he never has the opportunity to right any of his wrongs, real or imagined. You tell the boys he needs to be monitored, OK?’

‘I know what you mean, Dad, but I feel sorry for the lads. They work so hard, and they love him – he’s their dad after all.’

Peter laughed then. ‘You’re preaching to the converted, son, he’s my fucking brother remember. What I want to make sure of now, however, is that he don’t fuck up any of the new earns. The lads have got to keep him under some kind of control, and make sure he is never, and I mean never, allowed to mix with people we are dealing with unless he has a fucking minder.’