It worked better that way. People only know what you tell them. Well, if you didn't tell them anything then you were safe.

So whoever had put Kevin away had either a working knowledge of his business practices, or a vested interest in seeing Kevin Craig off the pavement. The former he doubted, the latter he suspected.

Kevin had never had the gift of friendship. He was like a fucking old woman, looking for slights everywhere, taking offence at nothing and, worst of all, he thought he was the lynchpin of the protection business.

People amazed him: if they were so fucking clever why were they on a wage? Why depend on someone else for their daily bread? So he had once had affiliations with Barry Caldwell, why would he think that gave him any street credibility? Barry had been mugged off, he was yesterday's news. He would see about bailing Kevin out if he could, he would concentrate on lessening the blow of his sentence, and finally he would take care of his family until such time as the courts saw fit to release him back into society. It was the usual, it was what anyone could expect in his employ and it wasn't fucking rocket science. It also meant he was about two grand down a week, and that was the real priority here; when all was said and done, he wasn't about to lose any income. Still, he would find out the score soon enough, and like any problem, the sooner it was dealt with, the better.

Lil was still nervous after her prison visit. The place made her nerves bad, undermined her life in every way imaginable. Reminded her of what could happen, reminded her of how difficult her life could easily become.

But it also reminded her of how she had to keep these thoughts to herself. All her life she had felt as if she was walking on quicksand and that feeling overwhelmed her every time she walked through the prison doors.

It was an ending, a big lump, it was society's way of telling people they were being excluded, it was also like a time warp. All her life she had heard the phrase 'let the punishment fit the crime', and she was agreeable to that.

Money and property were what got people banged up for years, and as her husband now fell into that category, it bothered her. Especially as she knew that the prison lifestyle would kill him.

But it was so true, crimes against money and property guaranteed a seriously long sentence, murder and sex crimes guaranteed a much lesser sentence. It was to her, at first, an unbelievable truth. She had believed it, because it had been explained to her by her husband. Now though, the papers had proved the case in point, and it scared her. That her husband would do less time for murdering a complete stranger on the street than for robbing a bank was outrageous. He was breaking the law of course, but how was that a worse offence than a murder or a rape? It was these thoughts that were stopping her from sleeping at night.

It did occur to her that he might be a murderer, but she forced those thoughts away. If he did murder someone there would have to be a good reason for it, she was convinced. It was like her mother had said, it would be like an occupational hazard to him. But he wouldn't do that, she knew he wouldn't do anything like that.

As she poured out a cup of tea, she looked around her kitchen and tried to take in everything about it. Compared to her upbringing, this place was luxury, yet even she was now aware that they did not live within her husband's means. They lived well but not excessively so. Pat always said that the first interest from Old Bill was if there was a nice house and a decent motor and no real means of employment. His legal business would have provided this standard of living so that is how they lived. It was still a better lifestyle than most people's.

If she was to be taken away from here at a moment's notice, what would she really remember? What would she miss? Like her husband, she lived for the moment. If it all fell out of bed, she would pack a bag and walk away from here without a backward glance. Somewhere in her head she knew that was wrong. She had a child, another on the way, she should feel settled here instead of feeling like this was just another stop. Somewhere to sit and wait for the man who dominated her existence. Yet she knew she wasn't alone, that a lot of the women in her position lived their lives in exactly the same way.

For the first time though, she was really worried about what the future might bring. Pat wasn't a fool, he would dodge the law as best he could, but, pregnant once more, she was terrified of being alone. Seeing the prisons up close and personal, she was frightened of the power the thought of them had over her. As she looked at her little son playing with his toys on the lino, she felt the familiar sickness wash over her. Patrick said it was just the baby; once the new one arrived she would be OK, but she wasn't so sure.

She had the same feelings in the prison as she had felt as a child growing up. The utter loneliness that pervaded the place was bad enough, but to then be told when to eat, sleep and even shit, was terrifying. To live your whole life on a rota, even worse, a rota planned and executed by people you would cross the road to avoid, was to her the worst thing she could ever imagine.

Being at the mercy of other people was something she understood very well, and it was something she hated with a passion that surprised her.

She picked up Pat Junior and held him close, even though he wriggled to get away from her to continue his playing. She needed bodily contact constantly: after being starved of affection for so long, she now craved it desperately. Her husband's arm across her belly was like her life's blood, a necessity.

Since Pat had started using her to visit and relay messages, she was now frighteningly aware of just how precarious her life actually was. She put the squealing child down and lit a cigarette with trembling hands. Needing people brought its own set of problems; at times like this she wondered if she had been better off as she was before. Then she had felt she was missing out on something, she just had not known what that something was. Now she knew, it was even worse.

She took a deep breath and sighed once more.

Life, after all, was what you made it, and Pat was making sure her life was wonderful. Even to her own ears that sounded hollow.

Chapter Three

Everyone, especially the police, knew that Pat had taken out his arch rivals. And as luck would have it, nobody, including the police, cared. Billy Spot's demise had been on the cards for a while, it was just a case of who would be responsible, as opposed to when it would happen. Pat Brodie had been a contender for a while and the sensible money had been on him.

When he had wiped out Spot he had opened up the West End for everyone. Unlike Spot and his cronies though, Pat and his cohorts were quite happy to let people work their trades in relative peace and tranquillity. Providing they made sure that a percentage of the money earned made its way into their pockets they were happy. Life was good for everyone; Pat was fair, and the numerous Williams brothers who were on his leash were amicable and easy enough to get along with. Business thrived for everyone, from the street vendors to the club owners. Life was easier than it had been for years and, as Pat and his cohorts made a point of being seen on the very streets they policed, no one was worried about late-night visits and protection money being demanded twice in one night. Spot had not watched over his troops and that had been when the rot had set in. So now, everyone was earning, and everyone was feeling relaxed enough to unload the shotguns they kept under their bars and hide away the handguns they might have kept in their cars.