by Keane Jessie
‘Relax,’ said Charlie, patting Beezer on the back so hard he nearly lost his pint over the table. ‘You’re out, mate. And you’ve learned a lesson, yeah? All the togs you wear on a job, you burn. All of them.’
‘Charlie,’ said Beezer. ‘Forget about that. What I am going to tell you now is going to change your life.’ He glanced around the group. His eyes were feverish. ‘All our lives.’
‘Yeah?’ Charlie was grinning. Beezer was always one for the big idea. Flogging one thing or another that would net them a fortune, according to him. Sadly, it never happened that way. You had to graft in this world. Put in the hours. Rob the warehouses and the banks and the racecourses, take over the nightclubs, do the loan-sharking – like Charlie had been doing over the past few years – and you had to do it carefully.
‘When I was in stir . . .’ said Beezer, glancing around as the barmaid Vera passed by with a tray of glasses. He fell silent. Then Vera was gone, back behind the bar, and he gestured for them to lean in.
‘Blimey, what is it, mate? You joined the secret service?’ laughed Terry.
‘There’s a gold rush on,’ said Beezer, looking wild-eyed at Charlie.
‘What the fuck?’ Charlie blew out cigarette smoke, watching Beezer curiously.
‘I shared a cell with a bloke. Finnan Marks.’
‘I know Finnan,’ said Charlie. ‘He’s done some jobs. Big bloke, yeah? Into all the body-building malarkey like Terry here. He got caught, the silly fucker.’
‘Well he won’t be doing bank jobs no more,’ said Beezer.
‘What, he’s retiring?’
Beezer shook his head.
‘Nah, listen, Charlie, this is serious. I was in the cell with Finnan one day, there we was, just shooting the breeze, talking about this and that, the door wide open and people passing by. Finnan had a gallery of pics on his wall. It was an artists’ paradise in there. Big-titted women and motorbikes and sports cars. We were saying which car we liked best, and Finnan slapped a hand on this red job hanging on the wall and said that this was his dream car, the car he was going to own one day. It was a Ferrari 250 GT Spyder California. Then this weedy little bastard – wet behind the ears, he looked – he stops outside the door and looks in and says, “I’ve got one of those.”’
‘Go on,’ said Charlie, beckoning Vera to bring another round over.
‘Well, Finnan says to him, fuck off, what you talking about? The bloke was smiling at Finnan and, mate, I was fearful for the kid. Finnan’s like that. You look at him the wrong way, he’ll take your head off, and he thought this student type was taking the piss.’
They all nodded. Everyone knew this about Finnan.
‘But the kid said he’d been bringing weed in on a big scale from abroad and was graduating to coke soon as he got back outside. He told us all about it. I’m telling you – that boy had a lifestyle like a film star. I’m not fucking around here.’
‘Yeah, really? What about Customs?’ asked Charlie.
Beezer snorted. Vera brought the drinks, smiled, departed. Beezer took a long pull of his beer, gave a belch and then said: ‘Customs is crap. You go over to France or Spain or Holland or wherever, send your granny with a couple of kids so no one will ever suspect she’s a mule. She carts it back in, you sell it on the streets.’
Everyone was silent, digesting this.
Beezer stared around at Charlie’s crew. ‘Now you tell me,’ he said. ‘Which is easier? Robbing bloody banks or buying a tonne of coke off the Colombians.’
Charlie was looking thoughtful. ‘That would cost though,’ he said. ‘A tonne? That would cost a lot.’
‘But you’ve done the banks, aintcha. You’ve done all that. So you’ve got your start-up cash. You buy the stuff for three grand a kilo, and sell it on in the UK for thirty to forty thousand. Once it’s bought, that’s clear profit.’
They were all silent.
‘Minimal risk,’ said Beezer, looking around at them. ‘And a fucking great payout at the end of it.’
None of them said a word. It was true that bank security – hell, security everywhere – was getting tighter all the time; Beezer’s jail term had given them all a chilly feeling. Maybe it really was time to let the hard game go.
‘What do you reckon on that?’ said Beezer. He put his hand over his heart. ‘On my dead brother’s grave, I swear to you, Charlie – this is a fucking revolution.’
21
‘You know what? I’m getting involved in a new line of business. It’s exciting,’ said Charlie.
They were lingering over coffee and brandy after the best slap-up meal Nula had ever eaten. This was not food like her mum cooked – plum duff, plain roasts, shepherd’s pie on a Monday, heavy fare that stuck you to the floor.
This food was light, exquisite. Lobster bisque that tasted of the sea, lemon soufflés, steak so tender it melted in the mouth. She was getting used to all this now, she loved it. The brandy was making her head swim pleasantly. A whole new world had opened up before her, a world of luxury, of being treated with respect, because she was Charlie Stone’s girl.
‘Oh?’ she said.
His business didn’t interest her much, but she loved his lifestyle. Her only concern now was that he hadn’t tried to sleep with her yet. She was wondering what it would feel like if Charlie went all the way with her. He was so self-confident that you couldn’t help but be impressed by him. Everything was excess with Charlie. He ate hugely. He was loud, he was tough. He’d grab your arm or nudge you to make a point, and you’d have a bruise there for a week. When he was in a room, he filled it; he seemed to suck out all the available air.
Of course Charlie wasn’t Terry, but still. She was quite sweet on him, really. But he’d been the gentleman with her for so long, doing little more than kissing. Oh, she let him fumble with her tits, and touch her downstairs sometimes. But Charlie never went any further. Now she was starting to get anxious. Didn’t he want to sleep with her?
‘Getting tired of the loan-sharking then?’ asked Nula.
Charlie looked at her, long and hard. Then he smiled. It was a standing joke between them. The loan he’d given her had never yet been repaid – in cash or in kind.
‘You’re a cheeky mare. But I like that in a woman, you know. And in answer to your question, no, I’m not tired of loan-sharking – and incidentally I haven’t forgotten you still owe me. Trust me, you will repay.’
‘Right.’ Nula didn’t feel in the least alarmed by that now. It was flirtation, the way they were staring into each other’s eyes, tossing words back and forth. ‘But as I told you, I can’t afford it. Not with the interest you keep piling on top.’
‘Yeah, it’s a problem, innit?’ Charlie’s eyes were dancing with suppressed laughter.
‘So what’s this new business then?’
Charlie tapped the side of his nose, took another pull of his brandy. ‘Secret,’ he said.
‘What, is it bad?’
‘Very.’
‘Right.’ Actually Nula found that quite a turn-on. She was having dinner in a swish restaurant with a very dodgy hot man, and though it was a crying shame it wasn’t Terry, it was Charlie Stone. Charlie was a boss to his boots, and she liked that.
‘How are you going to pay me then?’ he asked. ‘And when?’
‘In kind, I suppose, like you said,’ said Nula, and daringly she put her foot up under the table and touched it firmly to his crotch.
Charlie sat up sharply and Nula smiled straight into his eyes.
‘If that’s what you want? If you’re sure?’ he asked.
Nula gulped in a breath and ploughed on. Was she? ‘Yeah. Of course.’
Charlie was staring at her face. ‘I didn’t want to push it,’ he said. ‘I know your family’s religious, so I didn’t want to offend you. I thought maybe you were saving yourself for the wedding night.’
Nula stared at him. ‘Is there going to be one then? A wedding night?’
‘Yeah. Sure there is.’
&nbs
p; ‘Then we don’t have to wait. If you don’t want to.’
And then – when they were about to get down – at last! – to the real business of the evening – in comes Terry, with Jill all wrapped around him like always.
Terry and Jill hustled up to their table.
‘Terry,’ said Charlie in greeting.
‘We got some news,’ said Terry, beaming at Jill. He gave Nula a glance. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’
‘That’s—’ said Nula.
‘Yeah? What?’ Charlie asked.
‘We’re getting married,’ said Terry, and despite herself Nula felt the world all around her freeze into immobility. Her heart literally sank. But this was reality and she had to take it on the chin. All her dreams of Terry were fruitless, stupid. The fantasy of her ever getting with him was done. Instead, she had Charlie Stone.
It was Charlie for her now, or nothing.
That night, they had sex, proper sex, for the very first time. But while Charlie was doing her, kissing her, caressing her, Nula couldn’t help it: she wanted to, but she couldn’t. She thought of Terry, and her climax nearly sent her crashing through the ceiling.
22
Charlie discovered that there were other things besides dealing drugs; for instance, you could tax the people who did it. Rob them of their stash. After all, what could they do about it? They couldn’t go to the police. Charlie was mob-handed, he owned the manor and he was expanding at speed; he had the toughest crew for miles around. The victim’s only recourse was to tap on some other underworld mobster’s door and hope he’d help – which was unlikely, once he heard that Charlie Stone was involved.
And Charlie had other things taking up his time now. Nula, for one. Nula had come as a shock. He’d never had a lot of time for women, but he actually liked her. Now she’d lost that gigantic phizog of hers she was a pretty girl. She fucked like a weasel and sometimes she had a tongue on her sharp as a whip; he liked that very much. She answered him back and no one did that. No one except Nula.
On the morning of Terry and Jill’s wedding, Charlie was sitting on a chair with his trousers round his ankles and Nula was straddling him, bouncing up and down on his cock with enthusiasm. It had come as quite a surprise to Nula that she enjoyed sex. She thought it surprised Charlie, too.
Nowadays Nula barely went home at all; mostly she stayed with Charlie right here in his house. They had been together all yesterday evening and overnight. Then they’d got up, cleaned up, and Nula had put on the peach gown and the matching ostrich feather hat and the high silver heels she had selected to wear for the wedding.
She was still wearing the hat and the silver heels: nothing else. Charlie had come back into the bedroom saying how fantastic she looked in the dress, and next thing he had it off her, and her underwear, and then they were on the chair and Nula was shimmying up and down on Charlie’s prick.
Charlie was quiet this morning. Usually he was very vocal during sex, shouting ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ as she attended to him, but today he was clearly not himself.
‘Something up?’ asked Nula, panting, stopping mid-bounce.
Charlie pulled a face. ‘Terry getting wed. Things changing. I dunno.’
Nula had long suspected that Charlie was going to be put out by his friend’s nuptials. Maybe even as put out as she secretly was. Maybe Charlie thought Terry would go soft on him. Charlie liked to be in charge of matters, and this was something that was beyond him.
‘It’ll be OK,’ said Nula, placing both Charlie’s hands on her breasts. She gave him a laughing glance. ‘Keep your mind on the business in hand, OK, mister?’
Charlie half-smiled at that and squeezed a very small double handful as Nula got back to the job. She could feel the pleasure building now, accelerating her movements.
‘You know what we got to get you, doll?’ he asked her, leaning back, enjoying himself. He was staring past her and he could see them reflected in the dressing table mirror, could appreciate the back view of her.
Another thing that had surprised Nula was Charlie’s rampant sensuality. He seemed to have no sexual borders. Nothing was off the table when it came to sex, not with Charlie. Swinging parties? He loved them. Nula was nervous about the whole thing. Strange men, pawing at her? But this was part of the deal, she understood that; part of being Charlie Stone’s girl, so she did it.
‘You ask someone if they “partake”,’ he’d told her. ‘If they say yes, there’s your answer. They like to swing too.’
To Nula, it opened up a whole new world – one she wasn’t entirely sure she liked. But really – what did it matter who she had sex with? The only man she had ever truly wanted was lost to her. So, what the hell.
‘You’ve got a fantastic arse,’ Charlie said. He slid his hands around and grabbed her buttocks. ‘A real woman’s arse, ain’t it?’
‘It’s the only one I’ve got,’ said Nula, amused. ‘So what have you got to get me? I could do with a car.’
‘Nah, something much better than that.’
‘What then? You going to offer me drugs, Charlie?’ He’d told her a long while ago about the business he was in these days. Not that she cared. She wasn’t interested in any business, straight or otherwise; that was Charlie’s domain.
‘Hey!’ Charlie gave her a stern look. ‘What’s the golden rule, doll? What do I always tell you?’
‘You never, ever, touch the product,’ said Nula. ‘Cool it, Charlie. I was joking, that’s all.’
Charlie was staring at her chest now; it was the one thing that Nula was still self-conscious about, her lack of bounty in that area. The rest of her she was pretty pleased with. Especially her arse.
‘What you need is a decent-sized pair of tits,’ said Charlie. ‘Double D or something. I like to see a nice pair bobbing up and down in this position. Your nipples are fine, look at ’em standing up there – ain’t they cute? You’d be up for that, wouldn’t you, Doll?’
Nula looked at him. What was she, a bloody plastic Barbie doll that he could adjust for his own personal requirements?
‘I had a girl once, she had tits down to here,’ Charlie went on, holding his hands against her waist. ‘Fucking great things they were. Course, she’d been feeding kids so they’d dropped a bit, but jeez they were such a turn-on. You’d like a bigger pair, am I right?’
Nula nodded. Why not?
Charlie smiled happily. ‘When we’ve done that, you’ll be bloody nigh perfect.’
Nula laughed at that. A stupendous pair of tits to go with the rest of it? Why the hell not. She didn’t care if he was a drug dealer or a bank robber or Jack the Ripper. She’d had a shitty poor-girl childhood and life with Charlie was just one treat after another.
‘But you’re paying,’ she said, and bounced harder.
23
Terry found it new and strange, the drugs taxing business. A bit worrying. He knew that sometimes Charlie would get a call from a dealer saying someone had robbed his stash and he’d like Charlie’s help getting it back. That was just fine with Charlie. All he had to do was corner the perpetrator and do a bit of intimidation. But what these small-time dealers didn’t realize at first was that Charlie Stone had absolutely no intention of giving them their stash back. Once he had it in his hand, it was his. He was, after all, lord of the manor. No argument.
‘You’re gonna make a lot of people very angry,’ Terry warned him.
‘So?’ Charlie asked. ‘What’ll they do?’
‘Kill you seems favourite.’
Charlie was moving upward very fast in this brave new world they’d found themselves in, and it was making Terry uneasy. He had responsibilities now. All this money was fine, but he was a married man. There was Jill, and she was already up the duff with his kid. He was pleased as punch about it, but fearful too, and fear was a thing he’d never really known before Charlie started on the drugs business.
Of course, Charlie was putting down roots as well. After a series of low-rent slappers, he seemed to have settled on the most
unlikely one of all. Suddenly he’d married Nula Perkins and whisked her off to the Costas on honeymoon, shocking them all. Nula gave Terry a mild case of the creeps and Jill actively disliked her.
‘She said something really weird to me,’ Jill told him one night in bed. ‘She said, “Do you partake?” I didn’t know what the hell she meant, but I’m guessing it was either sex or drugs or both.’
‘Ah, it was probably nothing,’ Terry told his wife, but he was thinking of the way Nula was always eyeballing him – even though she was now officially Charlie’s girl.
Charlie had told him how hot Nula was, up for anything.
‘Hot as fucking mustard,’ he’d told his mate with a wink.
Terry was thinking about that ‘partake’ comment. All right, he knew Charlie was wild, but a woman, well, you expected her to have some standards. He counted himself lucky that his Jill was a one-man woman. He was proud of that fact. And she hadn’t protested when he’d told her about the business they were involved in.
‘We all got to be friends,’ he’d told Jill. ‘We work together.’
‘Yeah, and soon we’ll practically live together an’ all, won’t we?’ said Jill acidly.
Terry sighed.
Jill had kicked off when she’d been told of Charlie’s new plan. A two-up two-down on the manor was no longer good enough for Charlie and Nula Stone. They were looking at big gaffs out Essex way, talking about having one house for the Stones and another nearby for Terry and his tribe. What, live in Charlie’s pocket and in close proximity to Nula, who was already lording it over her because she was Mrs Charlie Stone? Jill’s shrieks of protest could be heard in the next county.
‘It won’t be attached, doll,’ Terry promised, to calm her down. ‘It’ll be separate, our own little place. No mortgage to bother about, no rent.’
‘And all paid for by Charlie Stone.’
‘So what? I work for Charlie. You know that. He wants me close.’