Innocence Lost

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© 2013 by David McCrae. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/24/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8000-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-8001-2 (e)

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Contents

(Quick I promise!) Word from the Author

One in, One Out

Restructuring

Some wishes are granted. Some are not

Business Calls

Playing Both Sides

Clash of Cultures

Sex, Drugs and Math

The Brothers Rising

A Father’s Duties

Pistols at Dawn

Salad of Emotions

Powers of Control

No Sweeping Exits or Off Stage Lines

Time is a Healer?

Innocence Lost

Jake, Prattle and Soul

The Orphan’s Conversion

A Weedy Good Night

Shaping the Future

Thrills and Pills

Home is where the Heart is… ?

Changing Perceptions

Illicit Revelations

Varying Concoctions

A Raid Gone Wrong

Seeking Safety

Calling in the Cavalry

Reparations

New Beginnings

Shaken and Stirred

Headaches

Divided Loyalties

Played for a Fool

Developing Relationships

Developing Plots

Split Lives

An Anniversary to Forget

Reaching Understandings

Keeping Secrets

Burnt Bridges

Re-establishing Contact

Some Hurts Mend. Some Don’t

Sowing Seeds

Addressing Headaches

Un-gentlemanly Conduct

This Year’s for Me and You… ?

Appointments

Joy and Goodwill to All?

French Connections

Pictures Tell a Thousand Words

Pay Day

A Shadow Unveiled

Luther’s Time

Out of the Darkness

Friend

Family

About the Author

(QUICK I PROMISE!)

WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Readers,

If like me you usually skip the acknowledgement and introduction pages to get your teeth into the story, I promise not to keep you long. I just wanted to give you a quick overview of who I am and how the story came about, which will hopefully add to your understanding and appreciation of the novel as you read it.

Since a young age I have always wanted to be an author. Whereas other kids had dreams of being a fireman or a train driver or an astronaut mine was to write. I was always lost in my own little world when I was young, placing myself in my favourite books, movies, TV shows and games. In fact rather unusually the genesis of this trilogy came from a video game. Grand Theft Auto, for all the bad press it has received over the years, bred within me a guilty fascination in crime. Over my teenage years watching Mafia and British gangster films as well as playing more video games strengthened this belief until I realised this was the genre that I first wanted to explore.

But like so many of our dreams in life it was always put off: ‘I’ll wait until I’ve finished my education, until I’ve got a steady job, until I have a family’. An epiphany came to me one day whilst playing a video game that I was devoting more time to other people’s fictional characters than my own and I decided to finally stop putting off what I could do today. So I knuckled down and in my first year of university wrote the first draft of what you are about to read. I then sent it to my editor and agent (my dad). Upon discussion we concluded that the characters and description were shallow and the plot a little unbelievable, but that the basic premise showed promise.

My problem was as I progressed through the draft, my writing was developing in experience and maturity (as hopefully I was too) and by the time I had finished, the final third of the book was at a far higher standard than the first. So I took a little time off and in my second year of university I restarted my dream. I intended just to rewrite the inferior first half but naturally this ended up turning into a revamp of the second half too. This brought me to the end of my second year of university and once again the manuscript went back to my old man who was far happier with the finished product. So we proofread, took a break, did another proofread and I decided that there was only so much nitpicking and re-reads that could be done before you ended up just going in circles. So I pledged to get it out there.

I shocked a lot of people with the publication. I had kept the whole project secret from everyone but my parents and one very helpful lecturer. My favourite quote from one of my friends was ‘David I didn’t even know you could read, let alone write’. It was such a relief to finally confess this big secret and the feeling of achievement was worth every writer’s block I experienced.

Before you start reading I apologise in advance for any grammatical errors you may encounter. As a humble student I was unable to afford a professional proof-reader but between myself, my dad and Microsoft spell-check we’ve ironed out most of the mistakes. I hope my story (personal and fictional) inspires you to pursue your ambitions and dreams. People have asked me how I found the time to write a novel and do uni’ work but I actually found that writing was a great tonic and release from my studies. I leave you with a quote from Gandalf, one of my favourites: ‘All we have to do is decide what to do with the time that is given to us’.

Thanks to listening to my spiel, enjoy the story.

David McCrae. 2013.

Chapter 1

One in, One Out

London, 19th August 1991:

Stiff and numb. That’s how Patrick’s body and mind felt as he sat in the hospital waiting room; currently deserted at the socially unfriendly hour of four in the morning. He clutched a cup of coffee in calloused hands, its warmth providing no solace to his emotionally sapped spirit. He took an anxious sip; its taste as mechanical as the machine he had received it from. Every moment he remained in the hospital made him feel more and more trapped. He had no great love for hospitals: the last time he had been in one his father had died. He felt as though its bland clinical walls were bearing down on him, draining and feasting on his soul; taking his life force as had happened to his father. And this night would do nothing to break the association he held between hospitals and death.

He heard a door smack against the wall behind him and he snapped expectantly towards the noise, as he had done several times that night. This time he was rewarded with a face he recognized. Dr. Kyle, who had so patiently and gently ushered him into this waiting room a couple of hours previously, had marched in with a younger nurse by his side.

What’s happening doctor? Patrick asked, almost pleadingly, standing up as Dr. Kyle approached him. He knew from the solemn expression etched on Kyle’s features and the overly empathetic one plastered on that of the nurse’s that he was not going to like the response.

Mr Sneijder, your child is fine, a healthy baby boy.

Patrick felt a wave of tension leave his body, the initial nugget of good news acting as an antidote to his anxiety. Yet even as he felt some of his fears dissipate, he felt new ones rear their heads as he continued to look at the stony face Kyle had reserved for him

Unfortunately, Kyle continued, his diction slow and practiced, we experienced some complications during your wife’s operation. I’m sorry Mr. Sneijder, we did everything we could, but she lost too much blood.

Patrick stammered in disbelief. So she’s… he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. Not now. Not when they had come so far. How had it progressed to this?

It had started so inconspicuously. Him and Charlene sitting watching the Ten ‘O’ Clock News; her sudden vice-like grab of his hand. ‘Patrick, it’s coming’ she had gasped.

So he had helped her to the car, already supplied with a pair of overnight bags for this eventuality. He had dashed into the hospital four hours previously, initially seeking aid for a woman ready to give birth. Then he had watched horror unfold before his eyes. He could still see his beloved’s face. The way the colour had drained from her face like someone had pulled the tap from the sink; the way her eyes swayed in their sockets before tumbling back; the way she had swooned and hit that cold sterile floor, oh so hard.

Yet after witnessing all that, he still could not face Kyle’s revelation. Surely he hadn’t heard right? But Kyle was nodding sadly, his haggard eyes fixed on Patrick, a supporting hand on his shoulder.

I’m sorry Mr. Sneijder. Your wife had extensive internal bleeding which was too widespread for us to deal with. We tried our very best for them both but it wasn’t quite enough. If you like I can take you through to see the pair of them?

Patrick put his fist to his mouth, a plug on the emotions threatening to cascade out. Yes please, he managed.

Dr. Kyle and the nurse escorted Patrick out of the waiting room and down a long corridor. Patrick felt those ghastly white walls bearing down on him as he walked, suffocating him as he advanced. His footfalls were deafening in the silence, each boom of his heel was an assault on his eardrums; how he wanted it to stop. Kyle meandered around a corner and Patrick desperately hoped this would be their destination but still he marched on: another corner, another. Finally the doctor stopped by a door and turned to face Patrick, who also stopped.

The sound of footsteps halted like a death knell and an eerie silence returned to the proceedings. Dr. Kyle stood by the door and allowed the nurse to enter the room before gesturing Patrick in. And so he escaped the corridor’s vacuum of silence. But he found no consolation in doing so; rather his trepidation rose-fearful of the scene he was about to encounter.

The gentle beeping of vitals monitors greeted Patrick in the dimly lit room. The nurse who had led Patrick in went over to a fellow nurse already standing sentinel by the bed. The bed…

Patrick staggered over to his wife. She looked so peaceful, her brown hair swept over her closed eyes. Her lips were slightly curled at the corners, as if she was contentedly smiling back at her husband. Patrick reached a shaking hand to her face: her skin, so cold to the touch.

The coldness shattered the pretence that she was just sleeping; it shot up Patrick’s arm and straight to his heart, which clenched with pain. The tears erupted from his eyes and he pressed his face against hers and howled. Dr. Kyle and the nurses stood there respectfully as Patrick wept, clutching his wife’s lifeless body.

Eventually Patrick had no more tears to shed, but his misery still endured. He lifted his head slightly to once more behold her features, as beautiful as the day he had seen her across the shelves of that public library. That homely face he had sighted four times before he finally mustered up the courage to approach her. That smile, its radiance even now still faintly on her lips. The same smile he had received just before their first kiss on the beach of Canvey Island and again received when he proposed in that spot three years later. Despite his sadness he allowed himself a small inward chuckle at the toils of their married life. Her dream of being an artist, his of owning a small yacht company: their reality a till attendant at a supermarket and his backbreaking manual work down the docks. Yet she had still maintained that characteristic boundless enthusiasm and optimism that things were going to get better.

Then came the pregnancy. There was all she could ever want, nestled in her womb. It was going to be just the three of them, and that was all that anyone could ever want… right? He couldn’t help but share her unquenchable belief that it would be the case. He hoped she had left this world still believing that.

Goodbye Charlene, my love, he finally whispered hoarsely. Thank you for every moment you gave me. I’ll miss you, so much. He kissed her forehead lightly and attempted to compose himself as he stood up and addressed the medical team.

Where’s the lad? he asked.

The nurse pointed to the corner of the room in response. Just there Mr. Sneijder.

Patrick followed her finger to the part of the room that had escaped his attention upon entry. And there he was, in his little glass sanctuary; the artefact of Patrick and Charlene’s time together; the saving grace of a tumultuous, heart-wrenching evening.

Patrick approached with wary steps, not quite sure how he would react upon seeing his son who represented equal parts life and death.

Yet when he laid eyes on the cherub-face of his son for the first time he felt nothing but compassion. He had anticipated this moment for so long and only wished that he still had his wife to share his joy with.

Can I pick him up? he asked the nurse tentatively. She smiled sweetly and nodded. Patrick slipped his weathered hands beneath the tiny form and cradled the boy to his chest, who remained asleep and undisturbed by his father dislodging him.

She was so convinced it was a boy, Patrick announced, not really addressing anyone present. I told her my gut feeling was a girl, but no, she insisted it was a boy. Hell I barely even thought of any boy’s names. You’re supposed to be Jessica or Rachael or Suzanne you little menace. She would’ve loved to have known she was proved right, what were you playing at siding with her eh? Patrick reprimanded playfully.

There was only one boy’s name, he continued, his voice slow and heavy with nostalgia. She wanted a boy named Oscar. Well I guess it’s as good a name as any, and the Oscar I knew was a good guy, Patrick paused, A hell of a good guy. The name has standing, I’m sure you’re going to live up to it my boy. Patrick returned Oscar to his original position.

One of the nurses came over and put a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. We’ll need to keep your son in here overnight, if there’s anything we can do for you just ask and we’ll help any way we can.

Patrick squeezed an attempt at a smile. Thank you. I need to go make a phone call, if that’s okay? The nurse nodded.

Patrick gave his wife another look before he left the room, before navigating himself to where he had spied some payphones. There was only one person who he could possibly speak to now Charlene was gone.

His brother, Matthias.

A bedside phone shrilled furiously, breaking the midnight silence of the Ilford residence and snapping Matthias Sneijder out of slumber.

Who the Jesus Fuck is that? he roared. This had better be bloody good! His wife Angie stirred next to him. Matthias fumbled for the phone in the darkness and snapped it to his ear.

Yes? he snarled venomously, Patrick? Wh- Then his voice softened as Patrick relayed the night’s events to him. Oh Patrick I’m so sorry… yes of course I’ll come, is the baby fine? Thank god. What hospital are you in? Okay sit tight I’ll be right over. Matthias put the phone down, his hand slowed as his mind digested what he had just been told. By this time Angie had turned on her bedside light and struggled upright; her normally immaculate brown hair ruffled by the pattern of her sleep and robin-egg eyes blurred with sleep.

What’s happened Matty? she mumbled.

Matthias shook his black-haired head in disbelief. Its Charlene, she had a baby boy, but there were complications and, Jesus Angie, she didn’t make it.

Angie gasped. Oh my goodness. Oh Patrick, poor guy, what are you going to do dear?

Matthias was already gathering clothes. He’s asked me to head over to the hospital, Jesus poor bastard.

You want me to come with you?

Matthias shook his head firmly. No you stay and get some sleep; someone needs to be here for the boys in the morning. I think it will be better if we just try and work this mess out brother to brother. Let the boys know what’s happened at breakfast time. I may bring back Patrick just so he’s not alone. Matthias pulled a shirt and jumper over his head and brought them down over his slightly podgy frame.

What an absolute tragedy, Matthias rubbed his temple with an agitated hand. I’ll call you when I know more of what’s happening. Matthias gave Angie a peck on the cheek and made for the door.

Matthias made good time to the hospital at this early hour. Once inside he was quickly directed towards the correct ward and he was soon re-united with his brother, who was again slumped in the waiting room he had already spent such a torturous time within that night. He managed to ignite an ember of a smile when he noticed Matthias had arrived. Matthias, the elder of the two, took a berth next to him and laid a consoling arm on his shoulder.

I’m sorry Patrick, Matthias attempted to sooth his sibling, hating how empty his words sounded.

So am I Matty. It’s shit, it’s fucking shit. What the hell do I do now?

Matthias looked at his younger brother; his normally immaculate brown hair had been wrung into disorder by worried hands. His gaze was returned by green irises swimming in a flood of red blood vessels.

Patrick had found love a lot later than Matthias. The elder brother had been married for twenty years, with two thirteen year old twin boys and an adopted eleven year boy to show for it. Patrick on the other hand had only been married for three. And now it had been so cruelly taken away from him.

Patrick, Matthias comforted, you’re going to be a brilliant father to your kid. Charlene knew that; that’s why she married you. And you know if you ever need any help you only need ask—

Patrick smacked his thighs furiously. That the point Matty! I wanted out; I didn’t want anything more to do with Dad’s work. This was a chance for us three to start afresh. It was inevitable that you and me were going to take over from the old man when he passed. But it’s not something I ever wanted my kids to be involved in. I want them to have what we never could Matty.

Matthias squeezed Patrick’s shoulder. There’s still no reason why he should.

Patrick shook his head. Me and Charlene knew it was going to be hard, but we thought that together we’d be able to make ends meet for the lad. But now it’s just me, I don’t see any other way…

It doesn’t have to be like that. You don’t have to work in the business again. I can support you financially, it’s not a problem.

And what kind of father does that make me, living out of my brother’s pocket? I’d rather my son found out I was a, a, Patrick lowered his voice, "a gangster than some asshole who can’t fend for his son without getting handouts from uncle Matty. But I can’t keep working down those shitty docks. The work was hard and long enough with two of us, I can’t do it now it’s just me the boy’s got. I just don’t see a choice; our business is the only way I’ve known to make money."

Patrick hung his head in dejection, as if saying it aloud had finally made him realise how his life was now going to pan out.

Matthias slung a supportive arm around his shoulders. Well you know I’ll help and support you however you choose to go. But this isn’t a decision you have to make right now, although you might think you have to, Matthias rocked his brother gently. So do you have a name for the young lad? he continued.

Charlene, she thought if it was a boy we should call him Oscar.

Matthias nodded in acceptance. He was a fine man, I’m sure he would have been honoured to know you’d named your son after him.

Patrick stood up and turned to his brother. In some ways they were so similar, their deep set green eyes and jutting jaws, extended towards the world in a permanently aggressive gesture. But as Matthias had inherited the black hair of the father, already sprinkled with grey, so had Patrick inherited the brown of their mother. Yet when seen together there was no doubt they were brothers: not just in looks but with the proud way each held themselves. Even Patrick—currently experiencing his darkest hour—still kept his shoulders and head thrown back; though the emotional burden he was bearing was a visible strain.

You want to go get a coffee? Patrick asked. Matthias agreed and followed his brother along the empty corridor. They walked in silence until they found a coffee machine, Matthias leaving his brother to his mulling.

As Patrick made his coffee, he said to his brother. Matty, I know it’s a lot to ask considering you already have three kids but… would you be Oscar’s godfather?

Matthias laughed at his brother’s hesitancy. Of course I will you idiot, you barely needed to ask.

This brought a welcome smile from Patrick. Thanks. That means a lot to me.

Matthias assembled his concoction and accompanied Patrick back down the corridor. Sensing increased buoyancy in his brother, Matthias made to broach a fresh subject.

Listen Patrick, he reasoned, Why don’t I take you back to mine just now? Oscar will be looked after whether you’re here or not. You can get some sleep then in the morning we’ll go pick the boy up. After that you’re welcome to come stay with me as long as you need. Angie will help you with the lad; the boys will be pleased to see you, and it will be good for you not to be on your own after all this shit has happened. What do you say?

Patrick looked at his brother with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. Of course, thanks Matty

Luther Sneijder woke to the sight of sunlight spraying through a freshly opened pair of curtains. His mother Angie was the culprit, standing by the window, her hair now pinched to the back of her head.

Get yourself ready Luther and head down for breakfast, I’ve got some news for the three of you, Angie hustled out of his room.

Luther looked at his clock (nine-thirty) and slid out of bed. Schwarzenegger and Stallone, in their roles in Predator and Rambo, decorated his bedroom walls with their piercing stares and no-bullshit expressions; their eyes seeming to follow Luther as he walked in his pyjamas to the second floor bathroom. As he did he met Adam emerging from his bedroom.

Morning, Luther said to his skinny adopted brother. Adam returned the greeting, his long brown curls flopping around his forehead like curly fries as he accompanied Luther into the bathroom. As they brushed their teeth together, the third sibling wandered in.

Michael, Luther’s twin, grumpily collected his toothbrush and brushed his long rock-star hair out of his eyes, What’s mum doing getting us up at this time? he grumbled. It’s the summer holidays for Christ’s sake

Don’t know, gargled Adam through a mouthful of toothpaste.

I’m sure Mum will tell us when we get down, Luther reasoned.

The boys soon returned to their rooms to get changed and Michael was again the last to make it to the dining table. As the trio wolfed down cereal, Angie took her moment to inform them of the previous night’s events.

So Uncle Patrick is here right now? Michael exclaimed, after Angie has finished her explanation.

He was, she replied, but him and your dad have gone to pick up little Oscar now. I wanted you to be awake for when they get back.

When will they be back? Luther enquired. Angie’s answer of ‘soon’ was vindicated when, as the boys were helping her clear the table, the booming knoll of the doorbell resonated through the household. Angie asked Luther to greet the guests. Luther left the dining/living room and walked into the hallway to the oak door. He opened it to reveal his dad and uncle, the latter cradling a small figure to his shoulder. Luther first greeted his father before extending a hand towards his uncle, who grasped it, Luther not missing how much weaker his uncle’s grip was than previous occasions.

All right Luther, Patrick greeted. Enjoying your holidays?"

Oh definitely, Luther replied. Matthias hung up his coat and removed his shoes before questioning his son,

Where’s Mum Luther?

Tidying up the table I think.

Matthias held Oscar whilst Patrick removed his shoes and beckoned his brother through the house. They met Adam and Michael coming the other way, who both made sure to shake hands with their uncle. Angie was still at the dining table as they entered. She looked up and smiled warmly at Patrick,

Hey Darling, she greeted. Walking up to her brother-in-law she embraced him and kissed him on the cheek. As she pulled away she made sure to analyse the newest addition to the family.

Ooo isn’t he gorgeous, she cooed. He’s gonna be another handsome Sneijder.

Thanks Angie, good to see you again love, Patrick returned.

I’ll go get you two some breakfast, and I’ll warm up some milk in case Oscar stirs.

Angie hustled out of the room, leaving the two brothers, who took adjacent seats at the table.

Thanks for putting me up again Matty, Patrick said to his brother.

Nonsense, it’s great having you here. The whole household loves it when you visit. Besides what kinda brother would I be if I didn’t house my sibling during his time of need?

Angie returned shortly with toast soldiers and boiled eggs, knowing this to be a favourite of Patrick’s. Now dearie, she said to Patrick, are you still okay sleeping through in the games room? We can shuffle the boys around-

No, no, no. I’m the visitor, Patrick interrupted, shaking his head. I’m not going to dislodge one of the boys. I’m fine with the mattress you put through there.

Okay I’ll get the old cot down from the loft. Do you want Oscar to sleep through with us and Matty?

Patrick again shook his head. Thank you Angie, but I want Oscar through with me.

Angie was momentarily taken aback by Patrick’s forcefulness and merely nodded in reply. Matthias chuckled inwardly at his brother’s behaviour; most would class Patrick as one of the nicest people around. Yet he possessed a fierce tenacity that had proven such an effective foil to Matthias’ cunning and allowed the brothers to expand the family business into the empire it was today.

The brothers were halfway through their breakfast when Oscar stirred, emitting a grouchy wail. Angie was immediately on the case, preparing a hot bottle of milk and presenting it to Patrick. Patrick displayed innate maternal skills as he soothed Oscar with a gentle rocking and slow tilt of the milk bottle.

Matthias walked over and stroked his nephew’s hand with his finger. Hello little one. Say hello to your uncle Matty. Oscar grasped the finger. Matthias laughed and smiled at the other occupants of the room.

Look at that, he knows who his uncle is already. This lad’s gonna go far.

Chapter 2

Restructuring

17th March 1993:

Matthias opened the door to a short man who during his boxing days had possessed a firm, stocky frame. Now however, to his disappointment; cartilage damage, increased inactivity in his work and the creeping assassin of age had conspired to turn much of that muscle to fat.

All right Duke? Matthias greeted, hugging the shorter man.

Charlie Duke hung up his jacket and trilby, exposing whitening blond hair waxed back towards the crown of his head. Fine Matty, the others here yet?

Patrick’s through the house, we’re still waiting on Sergei, Matthias informed as he led Duke towards the rear conservatory.

The conservatory was narrow but long, allowing space for a chessboard and chairs and a tea table situated against a photo cabinet. The conservatory looked out onto Matthias’ back garden, long and narrow as the conservatory was. Michael and Adam—the footballers of the family—had orchestrated the erection of two goals at either side, one next to Angie’s well tended flowerbeds, the other by the small pond and the apple tree. It was this scene that Patrick Sneijder was currently looking onto, seated at the table with Oscar in his lap, who was currently amusing himself with multi-coloured toy bricks.

Duke and Patrick greeted each other with a handshake and Duke gave Oscar a tickle, who giggled and attempted to defend himself with a waving of a toy brick.

Goodness me he’s looking big, Duke exclaimed, how old is he now?

Two in August, Patrick informed.

Duke waggled his eyebrows. How time flies eh?

Patrick laughed wryly. It passes slow enough when you have to monitor this little tyke every waking hour and half the ones you want to be sleeping too.

I can only imagine, Duke sympathised somewhat emptily. He had enjoyed three wives, and was currently in his longest relationship of nine years and counting. However he had not fathered any children in these relationships and his time to pass on a legacy seemed to have passed.

Help yourself to a brew, Matthias pointed to a silver tray resting on the table, supporting a large pot garbed in a lime-green cosy and accompanying sugar and milk. Duke poured himself a sugarless tea (‘I’m sweet enough’ he jibed) and the three men sat back and took in the spring morning, enjoying the rare peace that had descended on the house. Usually Matthias’s home was a hub of activity, with three boisterous teenage sons careering around. However Angie had taken Adam and Michael to football training and Luther was at a friend’s house; even Oscar was deeply engrossed with the complexities of multi-coloured bricks and contemplatively silent.

Patrick watched him with a nurturing smile played across his lips. Matthias and Duke had brought up an anecdote from their school days together, temporarily leaving Patrick out of the conversation. The younger man did not feel slighted, as it afforded him more time to engage with his son.

He had found the immediate months after Oscar’s birth draining. The death of his wife stole a part of him that he never fully recovered and with no one to share child-care responsibilities he had, despite his wishes, been forced to utilise the aid of his brother and sister in law: his brother to provide him short, flexible hours of employment and Angie for childcare. Even with their help he had struggled to provide sustenance for himself and son and equally ensure that he was a consistent presence in his child’s life—a pledge he was determined to uphold as Oscar’s only remaining parent. However, after the metaphorical (and literal) teething problems had subsided he found himself growing more into the role. After Oscar’s first birthday he assumed almost complete control over Oscar’s childcare responsibilities, employing either Matthias or Angie as babysitters only when he couldn’t help it.

What you up to mister? he questioned, bouncing Oscar on his lap as the infant vigorously bashed a long red rectangle brick against a small green triangle.

Oscar turned towards the sound of his father’s voice. His Granny Smith eyes gave his father a disgruntled look—as if reprimanding him for disturbing a highly important procedure—before turning his gaze back to the important matters concerning his bricks. Patrick laughed at his son’s antics and ruffled the wisps of hair clinging to his head; most of it seemed to have adopted the chestnut hue of Patrick’s hair. Yet Patrick had noticed with touches of nostalgia hints of the caramel strands that had so thickly adorned Charlene’s hair.

The knolling doorbell broke Patrick’s train of thought and Duke and Matthias’ conversation.

That must be Sergei, Matthias declared, rising from his seat to determine if his premise was correct. Patrick followed his progress out of the room with pursed lips and slightly narrowed eyes.

The sounds of greeting and conversation drifted through to Patrick and Duke before Matthias returned with a newcomer in tow.

Sergei Kharkov stood tall and gaunt in the doorway. His irises were so dark that it was hard to distinguish where they met the pupil so his eyes looked like glinting pieces of obsidian; sheltered in deep sockets either side of a hooked nose. His brown hair was quickly retreating from the tall dome of his head-only a few stragglers still clutched to its lofty heights.

Duke quickly rose to his feet and exchanged a hearty welcome with the Russian. Like Duke, Sergei was another school friend of Matthias’ and the three shared a similar rapport.

After swapping pleasantries with Duke, Sergei’s gaze flickered over to Patrick, who had remained seated.

Patrick, great to see you, Sergei extended a long fingered hand in the direction of Patrick, although too far away for Patrick to take it from his seated position. Patrick took his time readjusting Oscar, leaving Sergei hanging as he moved Oscar from lap to shoulder, before easing himself out of his chair to offer Sergei the briefest of handshakes.

Sergei, it’s been a while, he greeted almost regretfully.

It has, how’s parenthood treating you? Sergei stared pointedly at Oscar.

Just fine, Patrick responded with acidity in his words, Matty, since we’re all here shall we get to business?

Of course, Matthias reacted to his brother’s appeal. Duke can you give me a hand carrying up the tea tray?

Matthias used his office as a domain for all matters regarding the running of the Sneijder Empire. It was situated at the far end of the second floor and was the only room in the house where his sons and even his wife were not granted free reign. Even though they were alone on this particular occasion, Matthias would brook no business conversation outside of that room. It was not for the sake of secrecy; Angie already knew and Matthias realised it was only a matter of time before his sons did as well, but Matthias rather considered it a point of principle. He wanted to keep his family and business lives separate… even if his business was his family’s.

Entering into the room always required a staunch heart as the hand pulled down on the creaky handle. It was not that being in the room itself was daunting, but, in a way, it was. The room was not designed to be intimidating, but such an impression was hardly discouraged. What made the room truly a daunting feat to invade was what happened within: the deals, the bribes, the threats, the orders.

The first sight that greeted those entering was Matthias’ desk, positioned so it faced the door in confrontation. The seat that Matthias occupied during his dealings was one of red velvet, bordered by polished oak that curled into armrests that ended in knobs with an uncanny resemblance to the heads of serpents. To whoever was seated opposite, it was like being put under scrutiny by six unflinching eyes.

The room however was surprisingly sparse. Matthias’ desk, supporting a computer, keyboard and a few meticulously organised stacks of paper, formed the centrepiece. Positioned opposite were two omnipresent dining chairs, the only support for those who were summoned within. These represented almost the entire contents of the office save one small trophy.

It was a book-sized picture frame, its contents were privy only to the eyes of the person seated in the room’s main chair. The photograph within displayed what appeared to be a restaurant, with three men in the foreground; its pixels displaying the characteristics of 1980’s photography. However the details of the three men were still evident. A younger Matthias and Patrick flanked the eldest of the trio, their father Hannie. The picture had been taken in 1980, a year before Hannie succumbed to a heart attack.

Matthias and Duke laid the tea tray on the desk and Matthias took his position behind the desk. Sergei had already helped himself to one of the available seats and Duke graciously offered the remaining place to Patrick so that he could better support Oscar, who was trying to wriggle away to explore his new surroundings.

Mind if I release the hound? he remarked jovially to his brother.

Long as you keep him on his leash, Matthias chuckled in response. However, when Oscar had been unleashed to explore the crawler’s world of carpet and table leg, Matthias immediately adopted his business persona.

I’ve called you three here because I’m making plans to restructure the business. We’ve changed since dad ran it and I feel we need to move with the times. The old man’s operation worked well because of the nature of things just after the War and after that during the Cold War: all that international tension worked for his black market dealings. Yet in recent times our main commodity has definitely been the heroin. Yes?

The assembled listeners nodded and Matthias paused to place his fingertips together and rest his index fingers on his chin, as he often did when thinking hard or stressing an important point.

Since the wall came down and the Gulf War our ties to the Middle East have become very strong. From there we get our heroin and some of our girls and guns, so I’m obviously very keen to protect our interests in the area. Therefore this is what I propose.

Matthias felt a pillar of guilt thrust up within him as he turned first to his brother. Matthias had not given his brother any responsibilities since his tentative return to the family fold. Now he was going to give him his greatest role since that moment almost six years ago: Patrick’s first tragedy. A cartel of Mexicans affiliated with the Sneijder’s had quarrelled over shipping and territory with the other major criminal enterprise in the city: the O’Donnelly’s. Oscar Marquez, the leader of this cartel and Patrick’s best friend—the man he had chosen to now name his son after—had been killed. The loss of his closest friend had proven a revelation for Patrick, who had declared that he could no longer work for his brother when he had loved ones to consider.

So Matthias had respected his brother’s abnegation, redistributing the share of power towards Duke and Sergei. Such an arrangement hadn’t worked efficiently, but Matthias had persevered and respected his brother’s decision; never asking for him to return even when no suitable replacement emerged to help take the weight off Duke and Sergei’s shoulders. So when Patrick stated his reluctant return to his service, it took Matthias a lot of self-restraint not to shove the overflowing burdens of his command onto him. Matthias recognised that Patrick’s intentions and abilities were not equal to one another after the death of his wife: so he had shielded his brother as much as he could from the strenuous tasks he needed completed but knew his brother was not yet capable of. But now his juggling act of sheltering his brother whilst still presenting him with dignified duties was threatening to spill from his fingers, and the combined hands of himself, Duke and Sergei were no longer sufficient to keep the various spheres of his empire in the air.

Patrick, Matthias addressed his brother. I’m going to give you exclusive control over our Middle Eastern shipping and responsibility over our heroin operation. I’m placing everything in your hands, the shipping and negotiations with our men on the ground over there. If we’re going to move with the times I need a stable head governing it so I don’t have to brick myself about it every three seconds.

Matthias had just granted his brother responsibility over the most lucrative section of his business, and hoped he hadn’t made a grave error of judgement regarding his brother’s emotional competence for the task. Patrick offered his brother a compliant acceptance of his new duties and Matthias quickly shifted focus to Sergei, whose face had adopted an odd blankness after hearing of Patrick’s new role.

Sergei, Matthias delegated. Patrick’s going to handle most of our overseas stuff, so I’m going to put you in charge of things closer to home. First off you’re still going to oversee the pot shipments from Holland. Then back here there’s the gambling and the girls that I need you to take charge of. You’re also going to be collaborating with Patrick when it comes to the girls and some of the domestic distribution of the heroin.

Sergei tossed a glance Patrick’s way, his dark eyes sparking. Patrick returned the gaze pointedly, the embers of his own eyes also smouldering. Apart from their eyes however, there was no indication that the pair thought anything of such an agreement. Matthias did not notice and proceeded to inform Duke about what slice of the pie he could look forward to,

And Duke, he began, you get to keep those old boxing mitts of yours pretty clean. You’re going to be working with me on the legal stuff, the construction and the shipping. We need that front to maintain all the connections we enjoy and keep up a few barriers between us and the law. I’m also going to put you in charge of our money laundering.

Duke responded with a gratuitous smile. Matthias reached for one of the stacks of paper on his desk and began distributing pieces of paper. These will give you some idea of the financial side of the new set-up and will give you some idea as to how you want to distribute your men. Of course I will leave that up to your individual discretion.

Duke and Patrick diverted some of their attention to the documents sent their way, Sergei on the other hand didn’t even grant his an exploratory glance.

That is it gentlemen, short and sweet, Matthias spread his arms wide. Give the documents a further look when you have the time and get back to me if there’s any issues. Matthias extended his hand and one by one the lieutenants shook it. Matthias started as he felt a sudden pressure on his foot. He looked down and saw Oscar yanking on one of his laces.

Oscar cut that out, Patrick reproached and moved round the desk to scoop Oscar away. Matthias however merely chuckled deeply,

The boy just wants to know what part he’s getting, Matthias joked. Duke laughed and Patrick cracked a smile. Only Sergei’s face remained unmoved.

Chapter 3

Some wishes are granted.

Some are not

19th August 1995:

Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to Os-car. Happy Birthday too you.

Oscar flashed a bashful smile at the assembly as his father gave him an encouraging nudge in the back. Blow out your candles. Make a wish.

Oscar did his best impression of an inhaling dragon, before expelling his mighty breath against his four birthday candles—extinguishing them at the first time of asking. With that ceremony complete, Patrick produced a large chef’s knife and positioned the handle delicately in Oscar’s hands; placing his own gnarly hands over his son’s to secure them. The knife bit into Oscar’s chocolate cake as Patrick helped his son carve out equal pieces for each guest. There was a piece for uncle Matthias, currently capturing every moment on his camcorder, and Aunt Angie; as well as accompanying sons Luther, Michael and Adam. The only non-relations present were Duke and his wife Peggy. Peggy was an individual reminiscent of Mrs. Claus in figure and personality and since she was on yet another diet she politely refused a segment of cake, meaning that Oscar’s trophy could be easily divided into eight generous segments.

This is very good cake Oscar, Matthias passed a verdict through sticky lips. Make it yourself did you?

Oscar tucked a blushing cheek into a shy shoulder and turned two eyes like wobbly saucers up towards his father.

Don’t be shy Oscar, tell your uncle all about how you made your cake, his father encouraged.

Oscar scrunched his tiny fist into a ball as if using it as a microphone. However it only served to muffle rather than amplify his shy voice. Daddy made the cake and the icing, then I put the Smarties and Jelly Tots on top, he informed in a squeaky voice.

Oscar’s explanation produced a booming laugh from Matthias. Smarties and the Jelly Tots on top eh? Well that’s my favourite part Oscar, good job lad. Matthias extended an arm to ruffle Oscar’s hair and looked towards his sons.

Adam, now fifteen but still with the skinny body he possessed when he was eleven, had paradoxically devoured his cake. Adam’s frame had not stayed the same for want of trying; he ate almost as much as his bodybuilding brother Luther (whom incidentally had politely broken apart his cake but had not actually put a spoonful in his mouth) yet seemed physically incapable of gaining a pound.

Adam lad, how about you go play some football with Oscar round the back eh? Matthias said in a tone that seemed merely suggestive, but was edged with an assertiveness that was only going to accept one answer; it was a tone all of Matthias’s immediate family recognised. Adam wisely agreed to leave his seat, leading Oscar by the hand out of the living room of Patrick’s first floor flat to the block’s shared patch of grass round the back.

Angie was equally rehearsed in detecting the hidden messages in her husband’s words and also sprung to her feet, Peggy, do you want to help me with the dishes?

The wives of East End gangsters were very adept at realising when their presence was wanted elsewhere. Peggy was no exception to this and she too stood and gathered the