Faces by Martina Cole Page A

finding someone lying in wait for him, determined to relieve him of his dough and give him a hammering into the bargain. The darkness was unfriendly here, the shapes of the piled-up scrap looked intimidating in the blackness. The smell was smoky, thick with dust and rust; it made him think of death for some reason. The two German Shepherds who ran loose in the yard of a night to discourage thieves were used to him now. They were oblivious to him, but he was wary of them, knowing that they were kept half-starved to make sure that they were irritable and vicious enough to scare off any errant looters. Danny could walk in there and they’d run at him like long-lost relatives after a pools win, all rolling tongues and wagging tails. Danny always had a treat for them, made a fuss of them; even their owner was impressed despite himself, they didn’t even really seem to like him. They were handy though. If anyone did happen to walk by, they went berserk, throwing themselves at the fences and guaranteeing that the person soon went on their merry way.
    Michael was numb with the cold now. His ears were aching and his teeth were on the verge of some hefty chattering.
    ‘All right?’
    Danny was behind him, and the loudness of his voice made Michael nearly jump out of his new shoes. ‘Fucking hell, you nearly gave me a heart attack.’
    Danny was laughing loudly, a deep resounding laugh that echoed around the place, making the dogs run to the fence barking ferociously.
    ‘Shut up, you noisy pair of fucking gits.’
    Danny was still laughing heartily and the dogs started to whine. Danny rattled the fence to annoy them, and Michael suddenly wished he had not got involved in any of it. His dad was right about Danny; he was a looney tune, and it was at these times he was reminded of that fact. The dogs were almost tearing at each other now because they couldn’t get to them and Danny was winding them up by barking at them and rattling the gate chains. Michael watched him for long moments, waiting until he tired of his game. If he said anything he knew Danny would prolong it just to be awkward, to irritate him.
    Michael lit another cigarette and offered it to his friend, and Danny took it from him eagerly, bored now by his baiting of the dogs and annoyed he had not provoked a reaction from his friend. Danny smoked in silence, petting the dogs now, his hand rubbing their ears, the animals pleased at the attention.
    ‘Fucking horrible things, how you can stand to touch them, I don’t know.’
    Danny turned to face Michael and, frowning, he said seriously, ‘Don’t let them know you’re scared, they can smell it off you. Dominate them and they’ll do whatever you tell them without a second’s thought.’
    Michael had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the dogs, but was warning him that he had sussed him out.
    Then, sighing, he said amiably, ‘It’s fucking taters ain’t it, mate? By the way, I picked up a bit of work from Frankie Daggart tonight. He wants me to sort out a lad who has been hassling his sister’s boy.’
    Michael didn’t answer him, he didn’t know what to say.
    ‘Thought I’d show willing, like, see what occurs. You in or what?’
    Michael nodded his agreement, as Danny had known he would.
    ‘Got me poke then? I want to get home, it’s fucking freezing out here.’

Chapter Five
    ‘Where’s me blue shirt, Mum?’
    It was said with the voice Danny Boy used when in the presence of his father, a deep, slow drawl that dripped with deliberate insolence.
    ‘Hanging in your wardrobe, son. I washed and pressed it this morning.’
    Danny walked from the kitchen slowly, his huge bulk making the small space feel even more claustrophobic. His father watched him go with tired eyes. The boy was out of control and there was nothing he could do about it. To think that a child of his, a child of his blood could turn out so vicious was something he pondered on a daily basis. He was a size, and he was confident enough to