Chapter 4
"Oh what a wonderful morning,¦ oh what a beautiful day.
Snapping his fingers between each verse and over zealously slapping his face while applying aftershave Bill Bailey, was in an good mood.
Stood in his bathroom staring at the reflection in the mirror he observed the over-sized ruddy face with it's red, vein riddled nose. The pasty, greasy skin crowned by a greying mass, of equally greasy hair pushed back from his face.
Winking at himself he thought about his lot in life.
Charlene, his pretty young wife led on the bed, his plush home, the cars on the drive, the money in the bank. The smile spread across his face.
He'd made it, had it all.
And to crown it all, tonight he was off to join the Free Masons.
So maybe his wife was banged by another bloke from time to time, but that didn't matter, as long as he got his when he wanted it. Besides it wouldn't be going on for much longer, he'd see to that.
Yep, old Bill Bailey hadn't done bad for himself.
What a change from the boy whose school life had been a walking nightmare. Half those who'd picked on him had ended up renting from him down on the Riverside.
All different then, acting all pally-pally.
But he'd had none of it.
His school life had been a misery because of those lowlifes, why would he give them something of what he had.
A few had tried using their schoolyard bully-boy tactics at first, but true love money might not buy, bigger, harder associates it certainly could.
What did it matter, who could they tell, his clientele was made up of the scourge of society. Drug addicts, robbers, prostitutes, kids home leavers and every new group of immigrants.
The Riverside, once a wealthy area, was made up of grand Victorian townhouses, though the rich who'd once inhabited the streets had long ago moved on.
The large houses had since became bed-sit houses or were bought up by the council and converted into flats, then the Riverside expanded, taking in the surrounding area.
Bailey was brought up on the estate where Riverside Street ended up, always an outcast, no-one had liked him.
Mostly because of his Dad's job.
He was old bill, an over zealous one at that.
His schooldays were far from the best of his life.
Leaving school he was an overweight, acne ridden, six foot-two giant with no qualifications.
Back then the Riverside itself wasn't as bad with nowhere near the reputation of the estate, the main reason for the mass evacuation of the wealthy.
After his dad was killed during an armed robbery Bailey came into money and started buying into property.
By then it was the mid seventies.
The houses were beginning to look derelict and people wanted rid.
He managed to buy three six-bedroom places in one auction for next to nothing.
They needed a good deal of renovating to make them habitable, so he gave them a clean, a lick of paint, installed the over the top rate electric meters that had once brought him national infamy and was off.
The furniture was house clearance or from a contact at the local tip with the odd new, cheap carpet laid to shut the liberal whingers up.
But there he was, almost overnight, slum landlord extraordinaire.
Within a few years he had dozens of places.
Briefly he flirted with prostitution, opening a few discreet brothels.
A couple of hidden cameras and he had a few local Town Hall councillors eating out the palm of his hand.
Harassment by the authorities became a thing of the past as long as things didn't get too bad.
As far as Bailey was concerned nothing was too bad for the worthless scum he housed.
If anything he was doing the council a favour.
Who'd want these sorts in their houses, not the council, that was for sure, and who'd want them living next door, no-one that was who.
By the time Thatcher hit power things were already looking good for Bailey.
Property prices went up, though not round the Riverside, and the needy became needier. No prospects for the kids from the estate, it was easier for them to sign on and commit crime.
Baron Bailey, as he was known by then, welcomed them with open arms.
Well embraced the rent cheques from the council anyway.
The tenant, they got a thousand rule tenancy agreement, signing away any rights they would have had. It was too long and boring for any of them to read even if they could, they just signed on the dotted line.
Bailey thought of the few middle-class, wishy-washy types with nothing better to do who started shoving their noses in here and there.
What the hell did they know about these people, privately educated with a degree in some sort of common sense subject jammed up their arse and they thought they were in a position to judge him.
One such encounter after he'd slapped a mad old lady over three hundred quid arrears saw him in jail for six months. The prison didn't bother him.
The postponement of his initiation into the Freemasons did.
After all he'd worked hard to get there.
Although he had the financial benefits already it was the prestige he yearned, to be accepted into the upper echelons of society.
The surge in drug use in the nineties ensured more customers and he also met his wife.
A tenant down on her luck.
She got into arrears, they'd started a 'relationship', eventually getting married and having a kid.
The spitting image of Bailey.
He made him so proud.
Things got even better when everyone suddenly insisted scum should have luxuries like heating and double-glazing it was a slight glitch on his finances, but the slight improvement of his properties made him 'acceptable' again.
The arrival of the Eastern Europeans secured the social standing.
Again, as with every immigrant group, people kept their noses out where living conditions were concerned. Bailey snapped up more hovels and filled them quickly.
The immigrants needed somewhere to live, he provided a service.
When he housed them it was doing 'people' a big favour and again he'd endeared himself with some at the Lodge.
From tonight, three years later, he'd be a mason.
Bill Bailey was off to join the elite.
