Wishing and Hoping Read Free

fag?’
    Paddy shook his head. He had a thick mane of hair. His complexion was totally at odds with the rumours regarding his hands, pitted as it was like a pink-skinned orange. ‘I don’t indulge in the habit, Tony. It isn’t good for the health so I’m led to understand.’
    â€˜Is that so?’ Tony was doing his best to sound nonchalant. Inside he was wondering what the fuck Paddy was after. A favour, he supposed. Everybody wanted a favour of good old Tony Brooks, especially now that his daughter was married to one of the Camilleris, albeit Victor’s bastard son. The Camilleris were a big noise on the local manor.
    Victor Camilleri was trouble, though nothingcompared to the likes of Roderico Parkhouse or the real big fish, Leo Kendal. Kendal was
numero uno
– him and his missus that is. Apparently Leo Kendal’s wife was a bit of a looker with a sharp mind and a ruthless streak. Tony had heard all this by hearsay; he’d never met either of them, so he took it on trust.
    In the meantime it was Paddy Rafferty who was demanding his attention.
    â€˜I wanted to have a little talk with you, me boy,’ said Paddy. It wasn’t often he adopted such an obviously Irish catchphrase. Despite the flash outfits and rough demeanour, Rafferty could talk upper-crust English with the best of them, depending on what he was likely to make out of it. He could also talk bullshit. Tony decided it was some of the latter he was about to hear.
    â€˜I hear your son-in-law’s doing very well for himself. That’s a nice nightclub he’s got going down in Limehouse, though I doubt that the Chinks welcomed him with open arms. It’s their territory after all. Has been for years.’
    It was true that Limehouse had long been peopled by the Chinese, as a direct result of the opium wars. There were a lot of gambling houses around there, set up in cellars beneath old sugar refineries, and a few opium dens too, but basically there was little trouble. The Chinese did not wish to attract the presence of the police. They preferred to pay themto keep off their backs, and as long as there was no trouble in Limehouse, they got no aggro.
    â€˜They don’t bother Michael,’ said Tony smiling confidently and shaking his head. ‘My son-in-law’s got a good name round and about,’ he added, purposely reminding Rafferty of the fact that they were family. He only just stopped himself from drumming his fingers nervously on the car roof. What was it to Rafferty how Michael was doing?
    â€˜That’s good to hear, Tony, though I have to say that as the boy’s only young he may be in need of some more mature guidance. I have to ask myself, has he really got the experience to be running that nightclub as he is? There are times when a young man is in need of a helping hand, you know, Tony, and, seeing as Victor Camilleri isn’t around to guide him, I thought I might offer my services. All legal, of course. It’s not so much the nightclub itself, Tony. It’s the building. It’s an old building and bound to be due for demolition before long. Then what’s he going to do? You might like to mention to him that I know some blokes on the local council. If they see that I’m involved with the property there won’t be a problem when it comes to redevelopment, know what I mean?’
    â€˜I don’t know about that,’ said Tony slowly, wondering where the hell all this was leading.
    He knew nothing about redevelopment, though quite a bit about collecting the rents with menacesfrom the tenants of rotting Victorian tenements in the East End of London. He used to work collecting rents for Camilleri. The tenants, mostly immigrants, had paid dearly for the privilege of living in the squalor of the overcrowded London slums they’d rented from Camilleri.
    Rafferty was putting him in the picture. The more he heard, the more misgivings he had.
    â€˜The boy needs