Right so this chapter covers 29 of WCHB where Pete and the boys go and confront Matt in the Pub. I didn't bother with the whole Steve getting stabbed fiasco as we all know how that goes from watching the film. The reviews for the last part were brilliant as ever, seriously, thanks guys for taking the time, its a cliche but it really does mean a hell of a lot. The next chapter should be up on Weds/Thurs, I'm still not sure about the ending so we'll see...anyway, enjoy!
"Are you fucking sure about all this?" Pete stared out the window, drumming his fingers on the window of Keith's car as they drove to the Abbey. They had called Swill to check if Matt was there and sure enough the Yank's voice drifted down the phone as he chatted with Dave and Terry in the background; not bothering to explain what was going on, Bovver had hung up and informed Pete.
"What d'you mean 'are we fucking sure'?" Bovver shot back, leaning forward in between the two front seats and staring at his best mate in disbelief. "Mate, you saw his computer, you saw his fucking journal, what more do you want, Pete? A photo of him on the front page of the Times having won the Journo of the Year award or something?"
"Alright, shut up," Pete snapped. "How the fuck do we deal with this?"
"We get rid of 'im." Bovver replied simply, leaning back into his own seat and pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket.
"Get rid of him?" Ned frowned. "How?"
The car went silent and Pete knew just from glancing at Bovver in the mirror what he was implying.
"You're having a fucking laugh, Bov," he shook his head. "I know he's fucked us over but we're not going anywhere near that, alright? So get it the fuck outta your head,"
"I didn't say we had to do it, did I?" Bov snapped.
"So what?" Pete laughed. "You wanna hire someone, Bovver? This ain't the movies mate, if you kill someone you'll get done for murder, and if that happens, that really is the GSE well and truly fucked, ain't it?"
"Hatcher," he said simply with a nonchalant shrug.
"Hatcher?" Keith repeated, not taking his eyes off of the road.
"There's as much shit in that journal about him as there is about us," Bovver stated plainly. "All we have to do is tell him and then-…"
"And then what?" Pete roared, loud enough to make Keith swerve slightly. "Have you completely lost your fucking mind, Bovver? Who do you reckon Tommy's gonna come after when he's done with Matt, eh? What you reckon he'll have a sit down with us and we can all buy him a pint to say cheers for knocking off the Yank for us?" he snorted. "You can be a right stupid cunt when you want to be,"
"So what do you think we should do, Pete?" Bovver shouted back. "Come on, you're the fucking Major, so use your balls and start acting like it,"
"You keep going like that with me son and the Yank is gonna be the least of your worries," Pete told him, his tone low and dark, enough to make Bovver back off.
Silence filled the car once more and Pete went back to staring out of the window, his mind going round in circles. He'd taken Matt in, treated him just like the other boys, he'd trusted him and he'd all thrown it back in his face. The whole time he'd been lying, not to just to Pete but to Allie, to Steve, all the boys…
Matt had made complete mugs out of all of them and Pete was far from willing to simply let that slide. Matt knew first had what it was like to be on the inside of the GSE, he knew how they fought, without mercy or thought for the consequences and now he would know what that felt like first hand as well.
His legs started to twitch as the Abbey came into view and he glanced at Keith signalling for him to stop, not caring that they were parked practically in the middle of the street, they could deal with parking tickets later, this needed to be sorted now.
Bovver stepped out of the car and began walking ahead of them until Pete reached out and grabbed the back of his shoulder, halting him.
"I've got this, Bov," he spoke quietly and knowing better than to argue with Pete at a time like this, he stepped back, letting the blonde man take the lead as the four of them made their way into the pub. He scanned the crowd quickly, his brow furrowing in confusion when he spotted Matt sat at their usual table talking to Steve. What the fuck was Steve doing here? Not really caring enough at that moment to think about it, he stormed through the pub, pushing his way through the early Saturday night crowd and came to a stop behind the American, catching the look his brother gave him as their seemingly intense conversation halted for a moment.
"Get all those juicy details, mate?" he asked, drawing both men's attention to him. "Writing it all down?"
Matt stared up at him completely perplexed as the deadly look on his friends face seemed to register with him.
"What?" he frowned.
Pete's eyes clouded over and something inside him seemed to snap; before Matt knew what the hell was going on, Pete had him by the collar of his shirt and was hurling him across the room.
"You fucking journo cunt!" he shouted, his fist slamming into the younger man's nose.
Matt shouted out in pain as Bovver got a quick punch in as well, never one to miss an opportunity, especially where the Yank was concerned. Dropping to the floor, he raised a hand to his nose, wincing at the amount of blood that came away.
"Oi!" Steve shouted, standing up and moving to stand protectively in front of his brother-in-law. If nothing else, Shannon would bury him alive if anything were to happen to Matt. "Are you sure you know what you're doing here?"
"He's fucking undercover!" Pete shouted, looking at his brother in distain. "Don't tell him nothing,"
"I said are you sure?" Steve snapped, meeting his brothers eyes and pleading silently with him to calm down. Steve knew first hand that Dunham men weren't exactly famous for their patience and he didn't want Pete doing something idiotic just because he was too caught up in his anger to listen.
"What?" Pete frowned, his anger rising as he realised what was going on. "You already knew?" he shouted accusingly at his brother.
"All I know is that he studied journalism, right, at Harvard." Steve told them all calmly. "But he's dropped out,"
"We found his journal," Pete protested, unable to believe that his brother was actually sticking up for Matt. If this had happened in the Firm back when Steve was the Major, a Holy fucking war would have broken out. "Full of stories about all of us,"
"It's a fucking diary," Matt shouted at them from where he still lay on the floor. Pete's eyes shot down to meet his and the anger in them made him almost unrecognisable.
"Ned saw you at the Times with a couple of journos," he spat disgustedly.
"That was my Dad," Matt argued. "He's the journalist, you knew that."
Silence fell on the group for a long moment and Pete didn't need to turn around to see that Bovver was staring at him dangerously. Pete hadn't told any of the boys about Matt's Dad, all it would have done was caused friction in the group which back when Pete was sure the Yank had been a decent bloke would have been completely unnecessary.
"His old man's a journo and you knew?" Bovver spat, pulling the blue eyed mans attention back to him and the rest of the boys,
"That don't mean nothing yet," Pete shook his head.
"He studies to be a journo, his old man is a journo," Bovver laughed bitterly. "Where's the fucking difference? You let one of them get in with us…"
"Look, I wasn't trying to get anything," Matt shook his head, staying where he was for the time being. His nose was still stinging from the hit he'd taken earlier and he wasn't about to stand up and risk getting lamped again.
Bovver turned to glare at him, his eyes wild as he lunged at him with his foot raised, aimed straight at Matt's face.
"You, shut the…"
Seeing what was happening, Pete jumped in and rammed Bovver into the wall, smashing the glass on one of the old photos and punching him in the face. Suddenly realising that he'd actually hit his best mate, the first time Pete had laid a hand on any of the boys, he backed off and prepared to square up again. When it came to strength he and Bovver were pretty much on par and that worried him slightly, especially given Bov's inability to know when to stop.
"I don't care who he is or what he's done," Pete shouted at him. "You don't do someone on the deck,"
Reaching up and brushing his fingers over his temple, Bovver's eyes widened when he saw he was bleeding and suddenly he was on his feet again, glaring at Pete.
"What's wrong with you, eh?" he shouted, pointing at him and shaking his head. "He's gonna bury us all and you're just gonna sit back and watch?" he spat disgustedly before turning to the older Dunham brother, meeting his eyes pleadingly. "No, now Steve, you're the Major. You started this Firm, we got the biggest ruck of our lives coming up and your brothers too much of a bottle job to lead us," he hissed furiously, gesturing towards Pete who was still on guard waiting for the moment when Bovver turned on him again. The rest of the boys were stood behind him, Ned and Keith drawing an invisible line in the Firm as they continued to stand behind Bovver, letting Pete know where their loyalty lay.
Steve looked at Pete and realised in that second just how young his brother was; there was a fear in his eyes that only Steve could recognise: it was the fear only a leader could know, a fear of having pushed yourself to the point of no return.
Looking at Bovver evenly, he shook his head.
"The GSE is Pete's Firm, alright?" he watched as Bov shook his head and turned away from him. Meeting Pete's eyes, Steve nodded at him. "He calls the shots,"
Bovver turned and met Ned's eyes, pleading with him to back him up but like Keith he merely took a step back, shrugging helplessly as he fell back into line with the others.
"Yeah?" Bovver looked at them angrily, not really knowing who any of them were anymore. His gaze landed on Pete last and the stranger he saw glaring back at him made his blood boil. "Well fuck the lot of you, then," shaking his head, he looked back at Steve. "GSE?" he laughed bitterly and stalked away from them, barging his way through the crowd of punters. "Get the fuck out of my way!"
The boys stood there in silence for a long moment, the only noise in the pub seemed to be the gentle waft of music coming from the stereo system and the quiet murmur of gossip around the bar.
Pete looked back down at Matt and saw the Yank about to open his mouth to say something, to thank him no doubt, but he was in no fucking mood for that.
"Get yourself cleaned up," he snarled, turning away from him and leaning on the bar, the glass from where he had thrown Bovver into the wall crunching under his feet. He could feel the boys looking at him but continued to stare forward until he felt someone's hand on his arm. Glancing up, he met Dave's eyes and fought not to look away.
"You could have told me, son," he nodded. "You could 'ave told all of us, we wouldn't have given a shit,"
Shaking his head, Pete turned back to look at Matt just as he disappeared into the bathroom and let the door swing shut behind him. How did this turn into such a fucking mess in such a short time?
"How can we not give a shit?" Ned piped up, drawing the groups attention to where he was still stood with Keith, that little bit of distance between the two of them and the rest of the GSE getting greater by the second. "His dad's a journo," he emphasised. "So I'm guessing his old man knows everything he knows,"
"He wouldn't 'ave said anything to him," Pete shook his head vehemently.
"How do you know that, Pete?" he shot back. "Like it or not, Matt's not the same bloke he was yesterday, alright? And even if he hasn't said anything yet, what if one day he gets pissed off with all this and wants to make a quick couple 'a quid? You reckon he's about selling his little diary to the Times, do you?"
Taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself, Pete went back to staring at the bar, his eyes tracing the lines of the worn wood.
"'Ere, Swill," Steve stepped forward and handed the young man a handful of notes. "Get some beers in yeah, I think we could all use one,"
Nodding, Swill moved down the bar to where the punters although still looking at the group of men had begun to talk at normal volume again, apparently awaiting for the next fight to kick off.
"Go take a seat, boys," Steve jerked his head towards their table. "I need to 'ave a quick chat with my brother,"
Ike and Keith saw this as their opperunity and quickly walked away from the group, Ned staring at Pete a moment longer before turning on his heel and following them. Taking a deep breath, Dave met Steve's gaze for a second and nodded enouraginly to him before clapping the back of Pete's shoulder and walking over next to Swill at the bar.
"You alright, Pete?" Steve asked leaning next to him on the bar and staring at the side of his head. "Pete?"
"This Firm is fucked," he shook his head and then turned to Steve, looking him in the eye. "I have no idea what I'm doing,"
"You'll be alright, mate," Steve nodded. "You always are,"
Snorting, Pete shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension headache he could feel building there. This was the last thing he needed right now.
"Listen," Steve nudged him. "Go in there and talk to Matt alright? I'll have a chat with the boys, try and cool things down."
Pete looked at him for a long moment, shocked that his brother was willing to get so involved with it given the anti-GSE policy he'd had the past couple of years.
"Go on," he pushed him forwards, towards the toilet door. Nodding his thanks, Pete strode into the hallway, the smell of bleach and economy air freshener invading his nose and making him want to sneeze. Shoving the door open, he saw Matt standing at the mirror with a tissue in his hand and immediately any anger that Steve had managed to quell at the bar bubbled back up again.
"Thanks, Pete," Matt told him sincerely.
"Shut up," Pete snapped, jabbing his finger in Matt's face. "History student my arse, who the fuck are you?"
"Look, I'm sorry I lied to you about being a history major but that's it, I swear, I'm not a journalist," he pleaded. "You've gotta trust me, Pete."
"Well it doesn't look fucking good, does it, Matt?" he shouted, his patience snapping. "All this fucking time you've been bullshitting everyone. Not just me, you know what about the boys? What about Allie, huh?" he shook his head. "You lied for two months straight to the woman you claim to be in love with,"
"Why are you bringing that up?" Matt shouted back. "It doesn't have anything to do with this."
"Yes it does mate," Pete tapped his finger against Matt's head. "Because I can't for the life of me figure you who the fuck you are anymore. How am I supposed to trust anything you fucking say to me? You lie about being a journalism major, you trail after my fiancé for months on end with your tongue hanging out like some kind of fucking retarded mutt," he laughed bitterly. "I can't trust you,"
Bracing himself on the crumbling porcelain sink, he stared at Matt in the murky reflection of the mirror and shook his head.
"Why are you keeping a record?" he asked, a little more calmly than before.
"It's a journal," Matt told him. "I've kept it my entire life,"
Turning back to face him, Pete evened his gaze and took a deep breath, willing himself not to lose his temper.
"Are you working for the Times?" he asked.
"No, I'm telling you the truth, Pete, come on," the American sighed.
"Mate, you've put me right fucking in it," he snapped, pointing to the door. "If I don't convince those boys that the head of their Firm was not just taken in by some fucking Yank journo then the GSE is done," he shouted, walking over to Matt and getting right in his face. "So I'm gonna go out there and I'm gonna tell them that Bov's got it wrong and that you're one of us," he jabbed his finger hard into the shorter man's shoulder. "And I had better be fucking right,"
Matt watched helplessly as the door closed behind him, staring down at the bloodied tissue in his hands and ignoring the stinging in his eyes as not for the first time in the last six months, Matt Buckner felt completely lost and alone.
"Fuck,"
Pete rubbed the back of his head and then slammed his fist down onto the bar, making Terry who was stood in front of him jump slightly, almost dropping the glass he was polishing. "This shit with Bovver," he cast a glance at Steve. "It could tear this Firm apart,"
Steve stared back at him, knowing that it was true but not wanting to come out and say it; after all it was bad enough that two of Pete's mates had more or less fucked him over in the space of a few hours without his own brother stepping in and pissing all over his parade.
"Mate, I need you," Pete told him honestly. "Stay with us, alright? Just through Millwall?"
Steve let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.
"Pete, what you're asking me to do here…" he shook his head.
"You started this Firm, Steve," he protested. "D'you really want to see it go to shit over something as stupid as this?"
"Pete, I made a promise to my wife and kid," he narrowed his eyes. "And I'm sticking to it,"
He watched as Matt came over to stand beside Pete, his nose still red and sore looking as he eyes the rest of the boys warily. None of them said anything though, so he relaxed a little, clearing his throat and leaning back against the wall, not really wanting to speak to Pete right now, knowing that it would only end up with them arguing again.
"You do realise that this is all bullshit," Steve told him earnestly. "It's about reputation, Pete. Spending half your life trying to impress people that don't even matter. Believe me mate, I know all about it, because I've been there and I've done it. But you've got hell of a lot more going for you than I did at 24, mate. Just look at Allie, for fuck sake." At the sound of her name, Pete's eyes snapped up from where he had been staring at the table and he focused on his brothers light blue, almost transparent eyes. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to you, Pete and you know it. You're a completely different bloke when you're around her and y'know why that is?" he shook his head. "It's because you're actually happy. Because you know that something other than the GSE matters for once. And as for Allie, she'd do anything for you, mate, she loves you. So why would you wanna risk losing that for the sake of beating someone like Tommy Hatcher?"
"So what am I supposed to do?" Pete demanded quietly. "Sit back and let this all go?"
"Pete, when are you gonna learn?" Steve shrugged. "That the best reputation you can have is the one with your family?"
Before he could answer there was an almost deafening crash as a brick flew through the window of the pub, glass raining down on them as they dropped to the floor.
"Fuck!" Pete shouted, covering his face with his hands and wincing as little bits of glass imbedded themselves in his skin.
"'Ello, boys," Tommy Hatcher's voice boomed through the bar and Pete actually felt his blood run cold. Turning to look at Steve, he saw the same fear in his brothers eyes as he knew was in his own and knew instantly that they were thinking the same thing: please God, let me get out of this alive.