Short Story: Rise And Fall

Short Story: Rise And Fall

Let’s just walk through it, shall we.......? Down all the years I’d known him, I’d never once seen him laugh heartily as though he was truly enjoying himself. It wasn’t something you would notice straight off, obviously, but having been in his company over the course of a few days or a number of weeks, this behavioural curiosity became a glaring characteristic. It’s strange looking back on it now, considering all that’s happened, but what I remember most from those days when we would all be together, in a pub or on holidays or whatever, is the laughter that would constantly surround us as we talked and joked from dawn till dusk. But I suppose we always look back on our lives with rose tinted glasses don’t we? Well most of us do anyway. But even looking back on these memories I can still see Mooney’s unsmiling face through the streams of cigarette smoke and the sound of laughing friends. Mooney had this personality trait you see, but in reality it was probably more like an illness or a disability, in that he absolutely never laughed. The most he would ever do was grin knowingly, like he had to reluctantly agree that something was amusing and he didn’t want to be the only one not laughing. It particularly pained him when he had to laugh at somebody else’s witticism. He despised in a subtle way the ability of others to be quick-witted and acerbic, as he knew that these were qualities completely absent from his own personality and he found particularly displeasing, the constant raconteuring of William P. Foley.

It’s difficult to say why he took such a dislike to Willy P in particular. God knows there were plenty of smart arses among the lot of them and there could be several tense and even dangerous moments in a matter of minutes during the course of a night, as the lines became longer and the drinks became shorter. There was just this aura around Mooney, when it became clear that he didn’t like someone. I can’t be sure if everyone was aware of it but it always seemed obvious to me. He never trusted a single syllable spoken by Willy P and would sit in an uncomfortable stupor as the man he perceived to be more of a rival than a friend, regaled us with tales of daring and sexual conquests. I’m sure Willy P could stretch the truth to fit a story, of that I’m certain, but that wasn’t what really bothered Mooney. Mooney just couldn’t handle the way Willy P captured everyone’s attention and held onto it like he was nestling a sleeping kitten in his arms. The pure envy in Mooney’s eyes would be plain to see as he looked shiftily from face to face, searching for a comrade to return an understanding glance. I suppose it was this constant grating aversion which caused Mooney to feel the way he did about Willy P rather than any one or number of specific incidents. The way things were going, it was obvious something was going to happen. So when it did, it wasn’t really much of a surprise.

I honestly didn’t know a hell of a lot about Mooney’s family. I went to school with his brother, Phillip, who was an odd enough character, even as a young fella. He would seldom have lunch in with him and he could barely read or write and struggled with just about every subject. I got the impression that the family were very poor, back then anyway. He was the kind of fella that nobody wanted to sit beside because he smelled, and you’d have to give him some of your lunch and help him with his work. Mooney himself? Well he was older so I didn’t really know him back then. He certainly wasn’t “one to watch” so to speak. You never would have thought that he’d end up the way he did. Although the family seemed a bit dysfunctional, none of them were ever involved in anything like that. It was Mooney who discovered all that for himself.

I started working for him when I was sixteen. Myself and a few of my mates were always trying to make a few quid anyway we could. Nothing major obviously. A little bit of wheeling and dealing, that was all. We all knew of Mooney at that stage anyway. He drove around in that white BMW and the house was done up in expensive, tacky decor. Real criminal chic, but I wasn’t going to be the one to question the man’s sense of style. He was a vicious bastard, have no doubts. There was the famous incident of course in the Old Oak when he glassed the young Stephens chap and blinded him in both eyes. Nothing ever came of it, no witnesses. By that stage the entire area knew who Mooney was and nobody wanted to get involved. But the fact that he would do such a thing, in such a public place, shows what a hothead he was. Hotheads like that never last at the top. They’ll always get caught out eventually. If you want to stay at the top, you have to be more subtle and private in your viciousness. And revenge must leave your victims silent, not blind.

So I started running errands for him, small deliveries from place to place, then moving on to counting cash and packing. After a few years he took me on as his driver. He’d always been an insanely dangerous driver, so it made sense for him to assign someone to the position. I suppose it was probably a power thing as much as a safety issue as well. A man of his stature had to have a driver. It was a matter of propriety at that stage. The onset of paranoia had begun by then and I think he always felt safer in the passenger seat for some reason, although really it wouldn’t make any difference at all as soon as people knew that he had somebody driving him around. They’d know exactly where to find him all the same. The job itself was a cross between being his personal chauffeur, bodyguard and confidant. Not that he would confide much to me, or to anyone else for that matter. But I could see as time went by his increasing edginess and worsening paranoia began to alter his behaviour. He was probably using a little more than he should have at that stage as well, which obviously wouldn’t have helped his psychological stability. His increasing dislike of Willy P also became more apparent. I remember one night, when we were all enjoying a spring sojourn in Alicante, Mooney went for Willy P over the most trivial, bull shit comment. Willy P had made some remark about Mooney’s using. He turned like a rabid dog on his old antagoniser, foaming at the mouth like the coked-up lunatic he’d become. I had to bring him off to a bar down by the beach to try and calm the man down and he just kept repeating to himself, over and over; “I’ll get the fucking bastard. I will get that fucking bastard.”

Willy P of course had some very close friends amongst us. We’d all known, or at least known of each other, all our lives. Willy P had some real boyhood allies around him, plus he was a much more affable and amiable person than Mooney and Mooney realised this. So I suppose his worries about Willy P weren’t unfounded. I can’t say for certain if Willy P was planning to make a move but I wouldn’t be shocked if he was. Anyway, as you know I never did find out because I had to go away for a while didn’t I?

While I was inside I suppose I discovered a chance to reassess things a little. I took to reading; biographies, auto-biographies, mostly at first, but then anything at all. Shakespeare, Freud, whatever I could get my hands on. Of course I knew a few people in there, and I could potentially have experienced a few minor difficulties perhaps, but most people were aware of who I was connected with and seemed to deem it prudent to leave me be. Ultimately prison wasn’t such a bad time for me. I took the opportunity to educate myself, protected from unwanted hassle by the reputation of my associates. If anyone had tried to tackle me, I don’t know what I would have done. You know I’ve never really been the violent type. So since I’ve been out, I’ve been as straight as your good selves. Been doing the whole house husband thing: minding the kids, making the dinner, all that. Wife’s working as a medical receptionist so we’re getting by. It’s a no-frills lifestyle, but what can I say? It’s clean and it’s wholesome and it’s purifying my good old soul here. Had I seen Mooney since I got out? Well, of course I’d seen Mooney since I got out, it’d be almost impossible for me not to. I told him that I just needed to lie low for a while, at least just for the duration of the parole. It was all I could say to keep him out of my way and off my back. I wanted to buy some time and try and think of a way of staying out for good. I’d seen Willy P once or twice, down the Old Oak. He’d bought me a drink, naturally, but me and him were never that close anyway. And he wasn’t the boss was he? So I didn’t have to worry too much about him. Mooney was my only problem really. I could never have imagined that he’d end up doing me such a favour.

You don’t need to show me the pictures, I heard all about it on the grapevine, so to speak. It all seems a little unbelievable. I’m not surprised that Mooney made a move against Willy P but to do it in the way that he did? It’s grotesque and it makes me feel nauseous to think that I was working with these fellas. I hope to god Mooney didn’t realise that Willy P’s kids were in there. I know Willy P hardly saw them and I’m sure it was unusual for them to stay the night with their father. I suppose Mooney wanted to set fire to the place to leave at least a shadow of a veil of uncertainty surrounding the death. If he’d just gone in there and shot him, it would have been too obvious. At least this way, nobody could categorically state that he did it while everyone would be paralysed with fear in the belief that he did. He sends his main rival to his maker and now everyone has to jump when he says boo. Well would have, if he hadn’t crashed that stupid car of his. I couldn’t believe when I heard he still had it. The car was so old, maybe it was a mechanical fault. Perhaps he was coked off his nuts, but I suppose once he’d hit the wall and the engine went up, it left a pickle of a scene to investigate. Maybe Mooney could hear the screams of those three little kids, echoing in his bloody ears, as he drove that thing so hard into that concrete wall just to make the bloody screaming bloody stop. Me, I just want to forget about the whole thing and get back to my life, if that’s ok with you?

As I walk home down through the old streets I start to wonder deeply. Visions of memories flash past my eyes. I remember all of us as kids, running like feral animals in sun-drenched summers, with the energy and ambition of youth bursting through our skins. I think of happy times with Mooney and Willy P, of growing up and trying hard and of the ultimate tragedy of their lives. Because Mooney and Willy P you see, could never really have been true top men. Mooney was a mad bastard, ok and Willy P was a funny fucker, not bad. But neither of them had it up here you see, both of them were lacking the requisite mental capacity to command and to imagine, to plot and to scheme. Neither of those two useless pricks could ever see how easy it is to become the boss. And all I had to do, was light a match.