“Does Ronan ever lose his temper with you? I’ve heard he can sometimes go a bit mental.” In asking this, Paolo was trying to establish not so much what Flaherty would do to him if he found him ‘in flagrante delicto’ with his woman - Paolo already knew that - but rather what he would do to Nicole as well. Her answer might affect things later on.
“He hasn’t yet,” replied Nicole, as seriously as her inebriation would allow. “But if he did, I’d kill the bastard, no matter who he is!”
“And how would you manage that?” asked Paolo, genuinely interested.
While Nicole was getting even more giggly, and silly, Paolo’s thoughts strayed to Livia. By now Tony would have collected her from Southampton, sat next to her for the journey back and breathed in her perfume. He might have put an arm round her to comfort her... and, Paolo allowed himself to imagine, one thing might have led to another and he might be in her bed right now.
He didn’t seem to consider that he, Paolo, was now on the verge of a very dirty night with Nicole, and was sharing Tony’s wife Marcia too.
Soon to be widow.
Paolo was intrigued. Nicole’s response sounded saucy. He didn’t dwell on it though, he would wait to see what ‘later’ meant. They talked briefly about her relationship with Flaherty. She said he treated her well and was very attentive when with her. But she admitted that she was glad that he wasn’t around all the time.
“He’s pretty old after all!” she declared. “Old enough to be my father... or even grandfather!” More giggles.
Then she got serious. “Of course, he stupidly thinks we’re ‘exclusive’. He’s very jealous... but also very married!... That’s not fair play...
...and he’d kill you!”
Paolo deliberately took things slowly. After all, Bolly’s not cheap, and it needed to do its trick. His challenge was to refill Nicole’s glass without giving the game away that his own glass wasn’t getting the same treatment. After all, he needed his wits about him later, and before then, as a red-blooded male, the last thing he wanted was ‘brewer’s droop’.
An hour in, Nicole was getting nicely mellow when Paolo said, “Word on the street is that Ronan’s been splashing out on diamonds for you!”
“Just one!” she giggled.
“Later!” she promised, prompting more giggles.
Paolo parked outside Nicole’s flat in Dagenham half an hour early. He wanted to remind himself of the lie of the land and also to double-check that Flaherty or any of his thugs, whom Paolo expected to recognise, weren’t around.
Satisfied that all was well, he buzzed her doorbell and the voice on the intercom told him where to go as she opened the door for him.
He bounded up the stairs to her top floor flat, carrying the bottles of Bolly, together with his secret stash of weaponry. Standing in her doorway, she flung her arms round him.
Paolo knew Nicole would be very glad to see him... and show it in a very physical way. They were both taking a chance that Flaherty would stay away, but so far he had never visited the flat on a weekend. Nonetheless, Paolo made sure he was prepared, with knife and gun, not that he let on to Nicole that he was armed. But Paolo wasn’t taking any more chances.
He did, however, let her know that he was armed with a couple of bottles of Bollinger. Paolo wasn’t taking any chances that he wouldn’t get into her knickers either.
Paolo saw his opportunity. Tomorrow was Saturday. Time for a message. Destination Nicole.
’RU free tomorrow? Takeaway? Can come east. Or whatever. Will bring bubbles if u like? Secret luvva!x’
Paolo didn’t have to wait long for a reply.
’Hi secret. Sounds nice. Chinese goes with bubbles.... goes to my head. Here at 8? Max schtum! OK? Nxxxxxxxx’
Things were looking good again... and a whole day to plan. Paolo started out with no plan but a burning need to dispose of Flaherty... and a promise. Instinct, flexibility and only if absolutely necessary, the gun. But Paolo preferred the knife.
Flaherty had to be careful. He was married to a quite formidable Irishwoman, Mary, with some pretty unpleasant connections of her own... her own family, vicious thugs... but Catholic ones, who publicly took a dim view of adultery. There would be no chance of Flaherty actually living openly with Nicole. She had a flat of her own in Basildon, far enough away to be out of Mary and her family’s sight, and away from Flaherty’s operation centre in Limehouse.
The word was he could see her weekdays, but that he had to be a family man at weekends. Or else!
It’s perhaps ironic that Paolo, a highly sexed individual, wasn’t bothered about Nicole taking up with the Irish lad. There was no fight, no scene, no recriminations. Paolo effectively gave his blessing. That made Nicole want him even more, telling him she would always have a soft spot and more for him. That knowledge was reassuring to Paolo. One day he might want to call it in.
But then Nicole got noticed by one of the Irish lad’s dad, Ronan Flaherty, and that was it... nobody else would get a look in... or anything else!
But Paolo was unfinished business...
Whilst Nicole had been very attracted to Paolo, she wasn’t really his type. Attractive in an obvious and unsubtle way, she was much too ‘available’.
After going out with her once or twice, Paolo took her to a pub in West Ham frequented by a cross-section of London ne’er-do-wells, villains in the making. Among them was a group of Irish lads, one of whom took a particular fancy to Nicole. Trying to get Paolo to take more notice of her, Nicole flirted outrageously with them, and because Paolo didn’t react, she danced off with one of them.
Nicole was pure Romford English. A true Essex Girl. Long blonded hair plus pretty face in a common, Page 3, way and a generous curvy coastline to her 5-foot 4-inch frame. Her voice cried electro rather than elo-cution and she was very easy. She hated her nickname, Nicoleasy, based upon the ease with which she was prepared to remove her knickers.
Paolo had met Nicole a couple of years ago in a Romford club. She really liked Paolo because, unlike most of her previous conquests, he treated her with respect... and shagged her how she liked it.
Franco had asserted that Tony didn't do dirty work like killing people, but Paolo wasn't going to take Franco's word for it. He wanted to get out of Tony's office as fast as possible, with the gun if necessary, and do some serious thinking.
Paolo had no problem with the killing bit, he'd already proved that, although Tony didn't know, but he did have a problem devising how to get Flaherty alone without arousing suspicion and getting himself either killed, or tortured or, if successful, arrested.
Luckily though, he knew how to get to Flaherty's girlfriend. Paolo had been there!
"Kill someone?" spluttered Paolo. "I wouldn't know where to start." Tony may have believed Paolo's lie, but he wasn't letting him off the hook.
"Well the fucking time to start is now! I want Flaherty dead in 24 hours!" Tony handed Paolo a police issue pistol and clip. He didn't want anyone else, least of all Franco, to know about this mission, given the fact that as far as Franco knew, he had already killed Terry's killer, Shawn, and then been suspected himself. Any more any mores, and Franco might get his own ideas.
"Or I'll kill you both myself!"
Paolo was hugely buoyed by this Friday chat with Tony. He allowed himself to think big.
'The nasty old shit is lapping it up. He's putty in my hands. I can take on Tony Monelli... and win. Franco can take all the risks and I can be puppet-master while he wipes out Tony's competition. And then I kill them both. Then I can deal with Sofia... and Livia, who owes me a shag'. Paolo was getting way ahead of himself until Tony brought him down to earth with a bang.
"Fuck Franco. I want you to get Flaherty, Paolo."
"So that's the Irish fuckwit Flaherty! Who else is on the list?" Tony was interested in Paolo's thoughts and whilst his blood was boiling, he allowed some warmth to go Paolo's way.
Paolo reeled off four more names he knew Tony would recognise and react to. Tony was convinced that one of them, probably Flaherty, was Terry's murderer.
"How do we get to them Paolo?"
"Well," replied Paolo, suddenly bothered that 'we' might mean 'he', Paolo, "They've all got muscle surrounding them... but I can't see that stopping Franco!"
'At best, problem solved, at worst, fuck-rival removed,' thought Paolo.
"Don't fuck about, Paolo! So who's top of the list then?" Tony was suddenly eager to know.
"Flaherty fancies himself, doesn't he?" suggested Paolo, "And I've heard he's got a new tart he's trying to impress. Apparently he's been splashing out on diamonds for her... maybe with your money and Terry's scalp!" Paolo wondered if he might have gone a bit too far with the 'scalp' reference, but Tony just grunted.
"How the fuck did you find that out, Paolo?" he asked.
"I try to be your ears and eyes, Tony. That sometimes means drinking with some nasty little shits!"
"I've been thinking, Tony" Paolo announced late Friday afternoon.
"I do the fucking thinking Paolo! Don't you forget it!" Tony interrupted.
"Sorry... It was about Terry.." Paolo continued, bravely.
"What about Terry then?" Tony was suddenly all ears. He'd been thinking continuously about his brother and who was responsible for killing him and extorting Tony's money.
"I've been making a list of the cockiest bastards who might be trying to get a slice of the action and take you down, Tony, and claim your top spot. I don't think there are more than half a dozen who'd have the balls!"
Paolo made sure he was in Tony's office before the boss arrived every day for a week. He made himself useful and was very cooperative, initially getting no thanks from Tony, whose bad tempered outbursts Paolo rode like an expert surfer. His perseverance paid off though as by the end of the week Tony was genuinely appreciative of what the young man was doing.
"What're you being so helpful for Paolo? Expect me to give you a raise?" That was Tony's way of expressing his thanks.
And that meant time for Paolo to plant some seeds, then water them carefully.
Paolo compiled a list of known local villains whose 'business interests' were similar to Tony's organisation and who possessed the ambition and chutzpah to think themselves worthy of the top spot. Top of that list was Ronan Flaherty, whose Irish hoodlums operated very local to Tony.
Flaherty was a hard man, having come up the boxing route, winning a few minor titles and having been narrowly acquitted of manslaughter after, as a younger man, he had bashed the life out of an opponent in what the judge eventually ruled was a fair fight, following the rules of the boxing game.
The London underworld was characterised by a large number of separate gangs, often ethnically formed, operating in similar criminal fields. Mostly, each of these gangs worked within defined geographical boundaries, but inevitably, from time to time there were incursions, where one ambitious boss wanted to flex his muscles or take advantage of a particularly tasty opportunity. The result, sporadic turf wars. It was an occupational hazard.
As an Italian, Tony held a lofty view that he was top dog in the East End, now the Kray days were over. Consequently, a number of upstarts were ready to take him down.