that. Jimmy Banks had been so up in arms he even frightened the man who had come to him for help – and that wasn’t an easy thing to do.
Jimmy Boy looked at Micky and said dangerously, ‘I’ll sort this if it’s the last thing I do.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
The first thing that Jimmy Banks did was call a council of war. He knew he was going to need all the help he could get if he was going to bring Cain Moran down.
There were five men at the meeting in Jimmy’s offices in Barking. Jimmy was there, as was Micky Two Fags, also Richie Jakobs and a huge black guy called Elvis Munro. To complete the line-up was a small dapper man of indeterminate age who went by the name of Denny Gunn. No one knew if that was his real surname or if he’d acquired it because he’d provided guns to whoever wanted them since the 1940s. No one cared any more; he was a quiet man but he could come by anything in the line of firearms or explosives. Also rumoured to be in with the IRA, his reputation was guaranteed.
Everyone except Richie owned lucrative nightclubs and all of them were determined to hang on to their property. Richie was there because he had kicked the whole thing off and now he needed to extricate himself from his skulduggery by helping the men involved understand exactly what Cain Moran was after and why.
Richie knew he needed these brownie points badly; he had, after all, been the brains behind the whole thing. Consequently the men were wary of him. As was their right – even he had to concede that much. In effect, he had been the catalyst for this – him and his miraculous brain.
Now he was at panic stations in case they turned on him like Cain Moran had. It still rankled that he had made him such a wonderful proposition and Cain had taken it, then fucked him over like he was nothing, promising him a good drink for his efforts.
‘So you think we’re going to be able to talk him out of it? We all know Cain Moran is like a dog with a bone when he decides he wants something.’ Elvis Munro liked Cain Moran, and he was sensible enough to know that if Cain Moran was determined in this endeavour that nothing – short of death – was going to prevent him achieving it.
The men in the room nodded at Elvis’s wise words. Elvis was an anomaly in their world. Everyone treated him as an equal, and that was unusual as most races kept as far apart as possible within their own particular haunts in London. Brixton and Tulse Hill were where the Jamaicans hung out and dealt their particular trades.
Elvis had crossed the barrier because he was such an astute individual, and he always made sure he kept on the good side of everyone he dealt with. Coupled with the fact that there was not a man in London who could take him in a fight – and he was known to bear a grudge – he had carved out a very lucrative and respected career for himself. He had the one thing all good villains needed – the likeability factor. It was a requisite that few people cultivated. You couldn’t dislike Elvis and he would have been mortified if he thought you didn’t like him. He prided himself on being a nice bloke and the voice of reason, unless you upset him, of course, and then his good intentions went out the window, resulting in all-out war.
He liked Cain Moran because he was a good bloke but also because his best friend, Johnny Mac, was another Jamaican. It was a very unusual combination and yet it worked for them. Probably because of their shared upbringings with brasses for mothers. Birds of a feather, as the old saying went.
Elvis was the one person here who was not only needed, but also the Achilles heel. Jimmy Banks had known that, but he had taken a chance on appealing to Elvis’s better nature, otherwise known as his earning capacity.
Micky Two Fags was almost beside himself with excitement; he had been right to go to Jimmy Banks. Jimmy had the creds that he himself lacked in as much as Jimmy could keep a lid on his temper if needs be,
Jimmy Boy looked at Micky and said dangerously, ‘I’ll sort this if it’s the last thing I do.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
The first thing that Jimmy Banks did was call a council of war. He knew he was going to need all the help he could get if he was going to bring Cain Moran down.
There were five men at the meeting in Jimmy’s offices in Barking. Jimmy was there, as was Micky Two Fags, also Richie Jakobs and a huge black guy called Elvis Munro. To complete the line-up was a small dapper man of indeterminate age who went by the name of Denny Gunn. No one knew if that was his real surname or if he’d acquired it because he’d provided guns to whoever wanted them since the 1940s. No one cared any more; he was a quiet man but he could come by anything in the line of firearms or explosives. Also rumoured to be in with the IRA, his reputation was guaranteed.
Everyone except Richie owned lucrative nightclubs and all of them were determined to hang on to their property. Richie was there because he had kicked the whole thing off and now he needed to extricate himself from his skulduggery by helping the men involved understand exactly what Cain Moran was after and why.
Richie knew he needed these brownie points badly; he had, after all, been the brains behind the whole thing. Consequently the men were wary of him. As was their right – even he had to concede that much. In effect, he had been the catalyst for this – him and his miraculous brain.
Now he was at panic stations in case they turned on him like Cain Moran had. It still rankled that he had made him such a wonderful proposition and Cain had taken it, then fucked him over like he was nothing, promising him a good drink for his efforts.
‘So you think we’re going to be able to talk him out of it? We all know Cain Moran is like a dog with a bone when he decides he wants something.’ Elvis Munro liked Cain Moran, and he was sensible enough to know that if Cain Moran was determined in this endeavour that nothing – short of death – was going to prevent him achieving it.
The men in the room nodded at Elvis’s wise words. Elvis was an anomaly in their world. Everyone treated him as an equal, and that was unusual as most races kept as far apart as possible within their own particular haunts in London. Brixton and Tulse Hill were where the Jamaicans hung out and dealt their particular trades.
Elvis had crossed the barrier because he was such an astute individual, and he always made sure he kept on the good side of everyone he dealt with. Coupled with the fact that there was not a man in London who could take him in a fight – and he was known to bear a grudge – he had carved out a very lucrative and respected career for himself. He had the one thing all good villains needed – the likeability factor. It was a requisite that few people cultivated. You couldn’t dislike Elvis and he would have been mortified if he thought you didn’t like him. He prided himself on being a nice bloke and the voice of reason, unless you upset him, of course, and then his good intentions went out the window, resulting in all-out war.
He liked Cain Moran because he was a good bloke but also because his best friend, Johnny Mac, was another Jamaican. It was a very unusual combination and yet it worked for them. Probably because of their shared upbringings with brasses for mothers. Birds of a feather, as the old saying went.
Elvis was the one person here who was not only needed, but also the Achilles heel. Jimmy Banks had known that, but he had taken a chance on appealing to Elvis’s better nature, otherwise known as his earning capacity.
Micky Two Fags was almost beside himself with excitement; he had been right to go to Jimmy Banks. Jimmy had the creds that he himself lacked in as much as Jimmy could keep a lid on his temper if needs be,
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