Breaking Out

by Janice Nix

  When I rang him, he’d come straight down to London from up country. We talked. He was a gentle-seeming, tall and gangling black guy in his late twenties – so cute-faced he looked far younger than his age. He towered over me, and got his name because he had enormous feet. But his lop-sided smile and lanky walk were misleading – no one fucked with Mikey Shoes. They didn’t dare. They knew he carried a gun.

  I didn’t need him all the time, I told him. I just wanted to be seen with him now and again. It would send out a message: mess with me, you’ll talk to Mikey. Shoes nodded. He was cool.

  He brought me my blue steel Beretta Bobcat, a semi-automatic pistol, and taught me how to use it. Coiled in my hand, small and silent, it gave me a feeling of power like nothing I had ever had before. I gently eased my finger into place on the trigger. Just one tiny movement, and that Bobcat would snarl.

  ‘You’re a woman,’ said Shoes. ‘And a very tough woman – but this game is run by men. Now if anyone wants to try it on you, Mama J – you’re prepared.’

  The moment I heard Glen’s voice on the phone, I knew there was more trouble. It wasn’t often that the syndicate’s partners rang each other.

  ‘I’m in the gambling house,’ he told me, ‘and I heard your name mentioned. Word is – someone’s planning to rob you.’

  The gambling house was in the basement of a shop in Landor Road, Brixton. Men hung out there all hours, listening to music, eating, smoking weed. Poker and dice went on all night, and there was always some excitement – a dangerous stake on the table, a woman come in looking for her man when she’s not seen him for three days and there’s only one place left that he could be. It was a good place – the best place – for rumours and street news.

  ‘Again?’

  ‘That’s the rumour,’ Glen answered grimly.

  ‘Who’s planning it?’

  ‘The north London boys. I’ve got no names yet. Janice – where are you?’

  It was past ten at night. I was on the South Circular.

  ‘Still on the road. Nearly home.’

  ‘If I were you,’ Glen warned me, ‘I’d be careful when you get there.’

  The streets around my building were in darkness. I drove slowly past the rear. A car with two men in it was parked by the kerb. As I cruised by, one turned his head. So I was under surveillance. Someone was checking the place out.

  I went round to the driveway at the front of the flats. The dustbins were kept in a small bricked enclosure near the gate. Now one bin had been moved. It was sitting dead centre in the entry. If I wanted to drive in, I would have to get out of my car and move it. I looked around. A few yards down the road I saw a second parked vehicle. Two dark figures sat there motionless, waiting. Another two-hander. I definitely wasn’t getting out of the car – or going home tonight.

  I drove to Chelsea and checked into the Harbour hotel. Once I was in my room, I rang Ida, who was babysitting Nadia at home. I didn’t want to scare her in the middle of the night, but I told her that I needed to stay out on unexpected business. She agreed to stay till morning.

  At 8 a.m., I rang her again, sounding as casual as I could.

  ‘Good morning, Mums. Is everything okay?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Has anybody come to the door?’

  ‘No, Jan. Why – what’s wrong?’ Unease was creeping into her voice.

  ‘You didn’t hear anything last night?’

  ‘Nothing at all. Jan –’

  ‘Look – don’t worry,’ I said to her, ‘but when Nadia gets home from school later, can you pack some clothes for her and both of you come round to Chelsea Harbour? We three need to hole up here for a while.’

  Two weeks later, Scully was robbed in the street, outside Peggy’s Cafe in Brixton. Some guy grabbed hold of him, pushed him to the ground and took all the money he had on him. I could scarcely believe what had happened. But when I went to see him, I found that he was calm.

  ‘I’m leaving it alone. I won’t be taking action,’ he told me. He lowered himself gingerly into a kitchen chair, rubbing his back.

  I could scarcely keep my anger from bursting out.

  ‘You’re mad! You’re going to let this go? Do you know the message you’ll be sending? And you’re hurt!’

  Scully gave me a rueful smile.

  ‘I landed heavy. Not as young as I used to be, Janice.’

  ‘I don’t understand how you can joke about this!’

  ‘I’m not joking. I’m serious. It’s finished. I’m leaving it alone.’

  ‘But if somebody can get away with it, then –’

  ‘He won’t get away with it,’ said Scully.

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I know who it was. And I know something else too. What yuh lose inna de bend, yuh mek it up in de straight.’

  ‘But who was it?’

  ‘Babe,’ said Scully, low and level. If there was any anger in him, I couldn’t see it. ‘I know you’re upset. But if that’s how this man behaves, what will happen in the future? He’s robbed his fellows when he should have been honouring his debts. He’s disrespected those he ought to treat properly. Who’ll be left to do business with him?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘That’s enough. This man is making trouble for himself. So he’ll have trouble come to him. He don’t need me to arrange his funeral.’

  But even if what Scully said was true, I couldn’t let the robbery go.

  I put my ear to the ground. Pretty quickly, I had a name. A small-time dealer by the name of Winston Grey. Winston was a gambler who’d been spending his time in the basement down in Landor Road. A few weeks back, things had gone badly at the poker table. Plenty of players had been wondering how he’d find the money to pay. But now, all of a sudden, his debts had been cleared.

  The gambling house was not a place for women. I knew it. But if I wanted to have a quiet word with any of the mandem, that was where I’d go. The best time was always Thursday night, when a big game was on. Late in the evening, I dressed myself up sexy in a dress with a deep ruffled neckline and strappy red slingbacks. Before I left, I packed a few small essentials in a red leather bag by Yves Saint Laurent. I headed down to Landor Road.

  When I arrived, it was already after midnight. The players were taking a break. Everyone looked up when I came in. I gave them a nod, said hello to one or two, then clocked Mr Grey sitting in the corner by himself. I bought myself a cognac, sat down near him, crossed my legs and gave him an eye.

  Such a very easy piece of engineering. Over he came.

  ‘Mama J?’ said Winston Grey.

  ‘You’re right about that.’

  ‘A lady with a big reputation.’ He waved his hand towards the poker table. ‘But I didn’t know that you had an interest here.’

  I gave him a long, slow smile and drew my arms together. I saw his eyes dip into the plunging V neck of my dress.

  ‘Well, Winston – there are lots of things round here that I find pretty interesting.’

  He smiled back. He thought he’d pulled – so very confident and cool.

  ‘And what might those be, Janice?’

  I opened my pack of cigarettes and placed a black Sobranie between my lips. He reached for his lighter and I leaned in very close, holding his gaze while I gently touched the cigarette’s dark tip to the flame. I took my first drag and then exhaled, blowing the smoke into his face.

  ‘I’m interested to know why you’re trying to chat me up when I know you robbed the big man.’

  I’d never seen anyone’s expression change so fast. He flinched and recoiled.

  ‘What you saying?’ he asked sharply.

  ‘I’m saying you robbed Scully. In broad daylight.’

  ‘Um – uh –’

  He glanced nervously around, trying to work out if anyone else was in earshot.

  ‘Now,’ I said, ‘lucky for you, the big man doesn’t want to start no vibes.’

  ‘Janice – um – this is – uh – I don’t
think you understa–’

  ‘Okay then – you set me straight. What was it like, when you pushed Scully to the ground and stole his money?’

  He couldn’t speak a word. I placed my red Yves Saint Laurent bag in the middle of the table, and opened the clasp. My Beretta Bobcat gleamed blue-black against its blood-red lining, baring its perfect little teeth. I saw Winston Grey’s body go quite still.

  ‘Uh – Janice – so you’re saying that – uh – the big man don’t want no problems?’

  ‘He doesn’t.’ A flicker of relief crossed Winston’s face. I gave him a moment to enjoy it. ‘Then again,’ I continued, ‘he doesn’t speak for me.’

  Our eyes locked together.

  ‘There is only one reason I’ll do nothing to you,’ I said softly. ‘And that’s because the man said to leave it alone.’

  Sweat was forming on his forehead.

  ‘But if this ever happens again, I won’t deal with it so lightly. You check?’

  ‘Yeah man! Yeah man! Little misunderstanding, Jan!’

  ‘Because … if you want this to be on … it will be on.’

  Winston Grey drew back from me. He wiped his upper lip. Very gently, I closed my beautiful red bag. I got to my feet and walked away.

  10

  Waiting like a loaded gun

  MAY 2015

  MAGDA’S WAS A FACE in the women’s group that didn’t seem to fit. She was an energetic woman in her forties, looking in great shape and always well turned out. She came along to meetings on her bicycle. The exercise clearly made her thirsty, so she constantly sipped from a sports flask that she carried.

  I asked her what she was drinking. ‘Vitamin C tablets dissolved in water,’ she replied with a confident smile. She certainly seemed to be paying attention to her health.

  But I quickly grew suspicious. Something about Magda wasn’t right. She’d been arrested for drink-driving. Now she came along to our meetings, always sipping and sipping. The way she was drinking didn’t look like the way that you drink if you are thirsty. It looked like how you drink if it’s a drink. And her elaborate concealment told me something else – that she was struggling with shame.

  When a woman is standing in the dock, a life of chaos, of drinking or drug abuse, addictions, unwise sexual decisions and failures as a partner and a parent are often brutally exposed to the court. And they are judged there far more harshly than a man’s would ever be. I believe that women who have problems with drinking are shamed in the criminal justice system.

  It’s often the case, even now, that judges have traditional social attitudes. Older ones especially view women as the rightful keepers of the home. And the keeper is to blame, in these traditionalists’ eyes, when the home falls apart. The belief of the court is very often that she should have known better. If she didn’t – well, why not? A man in that same dock might be guilty of many awful things. He might have abandoned his family, committed dreadful violence, let many people down. But the huge expectation – that you are the one who must hold everything together – doesn’t rest on him. So he is censured less, and allowed more space to fail.

  I don’t believe that judges see the struggle that so many women in the criminal justice system are enduring. Perhaps some do, but even they still see it without really understanding. They have no sense of what a single mother’s life is like, living on very little money, perhaps in an abusive situation or with more abuse behind her in her past. Such things are invisible to privileged, educated men. But the failure of a woman to fulfil her role as anchor and carer of her family is very visible indeed.

  I couldn’t smell alcohol on Magda. Firing accusations when I had no proof would harm her trust in me, and trust was vital for everything I wanted to do. I always made it clear that I was there to listen and support every woman in the group, not to judge. So instead, I began to keep a very careful eye.

  It didn’t take long to find out what was happening. One morning, as someone else was speaking, Magda suddenly flopped over sideways and passed out. She landed on Izzie, who cried out, very startled: ‘My God – is she dead?’ Magda wasn’t dead – she was just very, very drunk. We helped her to lie down on the floor until she came round. At our next one-to-one, she and I were going to have to have a serious talk.

  ‘So when you told me it was vitamin C in that flask,’ I said to her, ‘that wasn’t true, was it?’

  She shifted in her seat. She put so much effort into acting as though everything was great. It upset her when reality popped up and brought her down to earth with a bump.

  ‘Look,’ I told her, ‘I understand – I get it. But if you don’t tell me you have problems, how can I help? That’s what I’m here to do.’

  ‘I’d just had a – a bad day,’ she muttered. ‘It was a silly thing to do, to drink like that. Normally I don’t – I never –’

  ‘Magda,’ I said, ‘I think what’s normal right now is that you drink more than you should. Don’t you think that’s true?’

  I saw that she was terribly embarrassed. But if she couldn’t face what was happening, there was no chance at all she’d overcome it.

  ‘I read your file. I think that alcohol has caused you lots of problems already.’

  What I’d read had been desperately sad. Her two grown-up sons were both professional musicians – one part of a well-known band. But he had felt completely humiliated when she had turned up drunk to a performance. The incident caused a rift between them – and it was only one of a number of disastrous occasions. Now Magda had lost contact with both of her boys.

  ‘Not to mention putting you in danger,’ I went on. ‘Riding that bike here in the traffic when you’ve had too much to drink sounds pretty scary to me.’

  ‘But I like exercise!’ she said brightly. ‘It’s good to ride my bike – it’s hardly ever a problem!’

  I wanted her to know that I wasn’t going to blame her. She felt awful shame already. But no matter what I said, I could see that I wasn’t getting through. All she gave me was bravado – her real, darker feelings lay beneath, and the more I tried to show I understood, the more she insisted that everything was fine.

  She finished her probation successfully, but right until the end, I knew she was still drinking. As long as that continued, I didn’t think that anything would change. I tried to offer words of encouragement and referred her to groups that might help. She desperately needed support. What I’d seen was part of a cycle. Without the help she needed, Magda would be back at the bottom in the future, again and again.

  JULY 1989

  ‘Mama J – you got a problem,’ said Scully.

  We sometimes mixed our business with pleasure, talking and making plans in bed in the afternoon quiet after we’d made love. In the rising chaos around me, his house felt like my refuge. But even there, I couldn’t relax as I usually did. A sense of deep unease was hanging over us. I lit a Sobranie and sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

  ‘This break-in, babe,’ he went on, ‘it’s concerning. I know you run things tight. Your security’s good. But somebody somewhere thinks they can take you.’

  I knew that he was right.

  ‘So who?’ Scully asked me. ‘Who’s got a grudge? Who’s jealous? Who’s upset about a problem and not say?’

  ‘Nobody’s upset. It’s all good.’

  ‘But babe – it ain’t.’

  ‘Scully – I move carefully. I always clear up trouble straightaway.’

  ‘I know you do. But babe – this time, you missed something.’

  ‘Or maybe,’ I said with a smile, ‘it’s someone looking for you. Maybe they know we’re together. There’s no secrets in south London.’

  ‘No secrets anywhere, darlin’.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘But yeah – I think you’re right. From now on – we de-fi-nite-ly going to keep our distance.’

  We both laughed, and Scully kissed me.

  ‘Bit late for that, babe.’

  But our discomfort lingered on, distracting us from one another.
As I got ready to leave, he looked straight into my eyes.

  ‘Dis is someone in your own camp, Janice. If word get out dat dis can happen and yuh don’t do nuthin’ – dat create a problem. Deal with it an’ get it under control.’

  ‘You know Mummy’s doing naughty things, sweetheart?’

  Nadia and I were sitting together in my bolt hole, down at Chelsea Harbour. She raised her head from her Nintendo Game & Watch. The pale blue handset bleeped and warbled distractingly.

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘But we live nice, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Sometimes, baby, it’s good to plan things in advance. Even if the things won’t really happen.’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’

  ‘So I’d like to do that now. I want us to plan what you would say if anybody ever asks you where I am.’

  ‘What would I say, Mum?’

  ‘You tell them you don’t know. It doesn’t matter how many times they ask. Even if they say horrible things.’

  Nadia looked at me thoughtfully.

  ‘But I would know where you were, right?’

  ‘Of course you would. I always come here. If you ever can’t find me and I haven’t been in touch with you – don’t worry. I’ll be here.’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’

  ‘And if anybody came to the flat and told you that they’d kidnapped me, and you have to give them all our money – what would you do then?’

  ‘Will they come, Mum?’

  ‘No, baby. Remember – we’re just planning. You would tell them to piss off. Or to shoot me.’

  ‘I really tell them that?’

  ‘Yes, you do.’

  She was wearing her most down-to-earth expression.

  ‘So I never ever say where you are, and if they’ve kidnapped you, they have to piss off or shoot you?’

  ‘That’s right. Good girl.’

  Nadia was nine now. She was so sensible I’d made her my little bank clerk. I gave her all the drug money to count, and she totalled it correctly every time. She tied the takings into bundles of fives or tens or twenties, every bundle exactly a grand. Then she’d separate the dollars and stray francs and pesetas and bind them together separately. I always put some of the money in her savings account. I also sewed five grand into her teddy bear – a reserve for emergencies.