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After an early life of car theft, during which he’d been fortunate enough to meet Rupert Sackville, Tony MacMahon graduated to armed robbery. He drove for the ‘big boys’ and made decent money which he didn’t splash around. Sackville had taught him that, as well as suggesting some very useful investments.
He’d known Rupert was gay from the start; it hadn’t been a concern for him. The man was damned good at his job. With his wisely chosen barristers for Tony’s sporadic Crown Court appearances, he’d kept him free from convictions. He knew Rupert was ‘fond’ of him, he’d been careful to nurture that ‘fondness’ whilst making it plain where his own preferences lay.
With Rupert’s counselling, he’d seen the writing on the wall. The Police had bought themselves a shiny new helicopter and he knew it would catch him sooner rather than later, so he’d bought himself a small local vehicle recovery concern and by way of ‘aggressive marketing’ built it up to be the flagship of its kind within the county. A lucrative contract with several insurance companies followed. A small clothing shop was purchased for his wife Lisa.
They both had a natural ability for the wheeling and dealing required for success and had gone from strength to strength. He’d acquired several more legitimate companies. They actually turned over excellent profits and had been doing so for years. Meanwhile, Lisa’s clothing store expanded into all the Northwest’s major towns and cities. Even the Taxman was happy, he was getting his share, albeit not as large as it should have been.
He was a good businessman, but he found being legal just too easy. Missing the ‘buzz’ of criminal activity and ‘life on the edge’, he went into the import/export business. Importing drugs and exporting violence.
Tony MacMahon had, in reality, always fancied himself as ‘The Godfather’ and that’s exactly what he’d become to some. Ruthless and benevolent in equal measure, he’d beat someone with a baseball bat, or have them beaten, then pay for them to be privately treated in the best hospitals available.
Silence ensured a return to the fold, at a lower position of responsibility. Those who failed to see sense would find themselves and their families physically and mentally intimidated until they did. Then, he’d be generous. Occasionally though, he’d had Tommy Cole despatch them to a better place. Not necessarily better for them, just better for him and Tommy.
He’d cash financed other things; two transport companies, two property developers, a travel agency and, of course, there was the funeral directors. His involvement was untraceable. He didn’t appear on the list of directors or anything else connecting him to any of them but he took a cut of the legal profits and the lion’s share of the illegal ones. The Funeral Directors didn’t generate any illegal earnings but it’d been very useful on several occasions.
He’d money and property all over the place. True, based on the money the Sunday Times thought he had, he hadn’t made their Rich List, but what did they know. With regards to where his money actually was, Lisa knew only half the story. Only he and Rupert Sackville knew the full picture.
But now it was time, he’d thought, to sit back and think about enjoying it. No point in pushing his luck. He’d take the entire family, parents and all, somewhere warm and nice to live. Spain seemed favourite. They all enjoyed Spain.
Unfortunately, Tony hadn’t been able to concentrate on setting a date yet. He’d a little problem. She was 5′4″ and called Monique. He loved his wife. More than anything else he loved his kids. But, he also loved the thrill of ‘playing away from home’ and he’d had a string of mistresses over the years.
Lisa was a formidable woman, still attractive at forty-five and hard as nails. She’d told him a long time ago; if she ever found out he was cheating on her she would take his kids and make sure the only time he ever saw them would be in a burger bar, one Sunday a month; if he was lucky. He knew she’d do it.
Monique had been fun, twenty-eight years old, vibrant and carefree but sadly naïve enough to believe he loved her. When he’d tried to end what was for him just another affair she’d threatened to tell Lisa everything. He couldn’t understand what her problem was. He’d set her up in her own apartment on the docks, bought her a nice car, jewellery and lined her bank account with enough cash to keep her comfortable for quite a while, all untraceable to him, but she just wouldn’t let it lie. Insisting he loved her, she kept saying Lisa should know her marriage to him was history. He couldn’t, under any circumstances, let that happen. She was a ticking time bomb. She had to go.
His meeting with the intermediary had gone well. The guy seemed to know his stuff and he’d come highly recommended from ‘out of town’ contacts. Tony paid 50% up front with the rest to follow within days of completion. He was surprised but pleased the plan was ready to be actioned that very evening, the intermediary having two ‘experienced’ Birmingham associates in Liverpool ready and waiting for the word, which Tony readily gave.
But there’d also been ‘that weasel Kehoe’ to deal with. His police source earned his money with that one. He’d known they’d a ‘snitch’ somewhere in the business, but hadn’t thought it would be Kehoe. Alfie reminded him of himself from the very early days and he’d actually liked the little fuck. It was unforgivable. Tommy would sort him. He knew Tommy enjoyed dealing out a bit of long slow torture with the offer of forgiveness being followed by savage realisation.
He and Tommy had a long history together, it went back to the old days of the vehicle recovery firm, but Tony was aware he’d become increasingly ambitious. He’d started conducting his own business on the back of ‘the firm’ and the realisation he shouldn’t have taken him into his confidence so early about his retirement thoughts had now sunk in. It had given Tommy too much time to think and thinking wasn’t Tommy’s greatest strength. Tony knew he would screw it up.
Ostensibly, nothing in their relationship had changed but it was there. He could feel it. He’d always relied on him, but he’d never trusted him completely. That’s why he’d got his ‘little insurance policy’, the photos from Oglet Lane, where Tommy had done his bidding. It had cost him a pretty penny, but the ex-Special Forces guys, whose motto was ‘who pays wins’, had done a great job.
Tommy was planning an early change of management, he felt sure. He knew he wouldn’t have the patience to wait. No point in stalling any longer. He had to sort Tommy before Tommy sorted him. Well, that had been the plan.