Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Ricky.

  He snarled, ‘You might have big balls, lady, but mine are massive, so get the fuck out of the motor.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Tommy got as far as his car, after leaving his mum’s brothel, when he was hauled backwards by his shirt. He twirled around, lost his footing and ending up crashed on his back on the ground. Before he could right himself a booted foot landed a hefty blow to his stomach. He groaned as he rocked half up, hands going protectively to his midriff. Another blow landed against his shoulder blade forcing him back down again. He squeezed his eyes against the hot pain.

  He reopened his eyes and gazed up, his mouth falling open in surprise. Over him stood his mum and her bully-boy Billy.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ he grunted.

  His mum crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You tell me, Tommy.’ She spoke through her teeth. ‘Yesterday you said you could help me out, you knew someone inside this law firm. I told you to watch your step . . .’

  Tommy knew where she was going. ‘Mum . . .’ But his pleading ended in a half squeak, half groan when Billy kicked his hip. ‘Shut up and listen to your mum,’ the older man warned.

  ‘When you came back with the tape I can’t tell you how proud I was of you.’ She lifted the side of her mouth in scorn, making the beauty spot above her mouth appear as if it were jumping for freedom. ‘But I ain’t so proud of you anymore cos someone’s been giving me grief about the present you left in my girl Daisy’s office.’

  Billy kicked the other cheek of his backside. Stella got down and looked deep into her son’s face. ‘Plod are just waiting for us to make the wrong move because of what you did to that director’s daughter three years ago. They’re like that. It’s all very personal for them. Can’t imagine why . . .’

  Tommy nodded. She smiled at him. Tenderly touched the side of his face. ‘That’s my boy. One more shit move out of you and you won’t need to worry about the coppers because I’ll take you out of action myself.’

  Ricky winced in pain as Daisy stuck the tweezers into his hand. They were sitting in the main room of her apartment as she pulled out the tiny splinters of glass embedded in his skin. The deep brown of his skin posed a striking contrast to the pale painted walls.

  ‘Oooooh, matron,’ Ricky said in a mock Kenneth Williams ‘Carry On’ voice.

  She tutted at his cheekiness. ‘That’ll teach you to go breaking and entering. Crime doesn’t pay.’ He winced again as she eased out the final tiny shard.

  ‘I’ve got a job to do here and you ain’t making it any easier. Although I’ve always believed in mixing business with pleasure.’

  Daisy didn’t answer him. Instead she picked up the tube of antiseptic cream next to her and squeezed some onto her finger. She rubbed the cream, in small circles, over the cuts on his hand, her bracelet bobbing against her skin.

  ‘Mmm.’ Ricky inhaled as he closed his eyes. ‘That feels real good, babe.’

  Flustered, Daisy snapped her fingers away from his flesh. ‘Right, that should do the trick.’

  Ricky opened his eyes and stared at her. ‘How about you kiss it better?’

  ‘In your dreams,’ Daisy growled as she stepped back.

  The room shook with Ricky’s outrageous laughter as he got to his feet.

  ‘Mrs King ain’t gonna be happy that you torched those papers.’

  When she didn’t answer he carried on with a rough shake of his head. ‘The Kings ain’t people you want to muck around with. You’re peanuts to them, family or not. They’d skin their own granny for a kilo of coke.’ The warning in his jet-black eyes deepened. ‘People say that Tommy was involved in the death of a high-up’s daughter a few years ago. You know how much effort the police put in to a case like that. And he’s still on the streets, so you can see how it is.’

  Daisy shivered at hearing that last piece of information. ‘Don’t worry about me, I can take care of Stella King. I’m going to change into some new clothes.’ He took a step towards her. She put her hands up. ‘Don’t worry, I’d need an axe or a parachute to bail out of here. And I haven’t got either.’ Disregarding her words he followed her into the bedroom. The room had white-walls, with a low level bed made for two, which had fluffed up pillows that matched the colours of her eyes, built-in wardrobe and a dressing table nestled next to a single white chair.

  Her eyes blazed with fury at him for invading her private space. She whipped her jacket and top off. Kicked off her skirt.

  ‘This your fella?’

  She turned to him in her matching turquoise and black Betty Boop patterned bra and panties. Ricky was holding the framed picture of Jerome she kept on the dressing table. Her heart quickened. She didn’t want Jerome anywhere near this mess. ‘No, it’s my granddad. Worn well, hasn’t he?’

  He peered closer. ‘He looks posh. I would never have figured Frankie Sullivan’s daughter stepping out with a Hooray Henry.’

  She was about to let loose with another comment when she noticed him looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. Then she realised that she was standing before him practically starkers, with only underwear and a pair of heels for cover. Blushing, she crossed her arms over her boobs and strode towards the built-in wardrobe. Feeling his eyes still burning through her she quickly shoved on a pair of jeans, T-shirt and top. She kicked off her shoes and put on some trainers. She unwound her damp hair. Still flustered she turned back around. They stared at each other.

  ‘I like your hair like that.’ His voice was soft and low.

  ‘What?’ Daisy self-consciously touched her hair.

  ‘Loose.’ They stared at each other again for a few seconds too long.

  ‘Daisy?’ A male voice called from somewhere in another part of the flat.

  Ricky kicked the bedroom door shut. Turned the lock. Turned back to Daisy. He grabbed her arm and dragged her towards him. And whispered, ‘Did you call someone?’

  ‘No. It’s Jerome.’

  ‘Daisy?’ This time Jerome’s voice was more insistent. And closer.

  Ricky pulled back from Daisy and opened the flap of his jeans jacket. She gasped when she saw the handle of a gun peeping from the top of his waistband. ‘Tell pretty boy to take a hike.’

  She headed for the door. Undid the lock. Closed it behind her and moved across the lounge the same time Jerome entered it. He was still dressed in his business suit and had a harassed expression planted on his face.

  She walked up to him and planted a gentle kiss on his mouth. ‘I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to,’ he replied, as he got comfy on the sofa. ‘But I just wanted to make sure that my girl was doing OK.’ He leant over and took her in his arms. ‘How are you feeling now about Angel’s death?’

  It was horrible to admit it, but her friend’s death was the least of her worries. Meeting Stella had made her worry about her own demise, especially now that she had burnt the papers. She leant into his warmth. Maybe she should just tell him what was going on. No, she couldn’t do that, not with Stella’s hired hand in the bedroom tooled up to the teeth.

  ‘Shattered,’ she finally answered. ‘Still can’t believe both Charlie and Angel are gone.’

  ‘Have the police got any more information about her death?’

  ‘I don’t know. There can’t be a funeral until they’ve done a full post mortem, which must be really hard on her folks.’

  ‘Do you want some company?’ He looked over at the bedroom.

  ‘No.’ She sounded very sure about that. Seeing the look of alarm on his face at the force of her response she softened her tone. ‘Charlie’s and Angel’s deaths have hit me really hard. Randal’s agreed to let me have next week off, you know, just to get myself sorted out. I was surprised but Randal doesn’t seem to mind me not being around for some reason.’

  He gave her another deep kiss. Then they pulled apart. ‘Don’t forget that it’s my parents’ cocktail party on Wednesday.’ There was a gleam in hi
s hazel eyes.

  ‘What are you up to?’ she teased.

  ‘Never you mind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss meeting your parents for the world.’ She kissed him on the lips. From the corner of her eye she caught the bloody tissues she’d used to clean Ricky’s cuts lying on the arm of the sofa. Shit. She grabbed Jerome’s arm, pulled him up and whisked him to the door. ‘I’m off to Spain for a couple of days,’ Jerome said as they hit the hallway. ‘To see if I can find Maxwell Henley . . .’

  ‘Who?’ Daisy’s voice was distracted as she looked over her shoulder making sure that the bedroom door was still shut.

  ‘Am I so handsome you don’t hear what I say? The class-action case, remember? There’s rumours that he may now live in Spain. I haven’t managed to get hold of him, but I’ve got a contact who is going to help me track him down. If I can . . .’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Daisy cut in. ‘But I really need to put my head down.’

  Jerome gave her one last kiss and was gone. As soon as the door shut she leant heavily on the wall.

  ‘Very touching.’

  She kicked off the wall at hearing Ricky’s voice. Headed for the TV where the Calamity Jane video box lay. She’d never upgraded it to a DVD because the video version was the one she’d watched with her dad. It brought back such lovely memories of them cuddled on the sofa watching it together. She picked it up the same time Ricky scoffed, ‘I don’t think your mum has got time for films.’

  ‘It’s the movie Calamity Jane. I used to watch it with my dad.’ She placed the video box back onto the TV.

  He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Not even Doris Day with her Colt 45s is going to be able to stop Mrs King from taking you apart when she finds out what you’ve done with those papers.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ricky was right. Stella went postal.

  ‘What do you mean you ain’t got it?’

  Daisy remained calm as Hurricane Stella hit land. They were upstairs in what Daisy could only assume was Stella’s private office in the brothel. Tommy sat on a piano stool and Billy and Ricky were positioned on either side of the door. Daisy sat in the seat opposite her raging mother at the desk, occasionally looking up at the large framed poster of Calamity Jane. Fancy her and her mum liking the same movie. And the room was decorated exactly the same as her own front room in the style of Calamity Jane’s cabin.

  ‘I burnt them,’ Daisy answered brazenly.

  Before anyone could say another word Tommy stormed off the piano stool, across the room and kicked the legs of the chair Daisy sat on. She landed on her back, the breath whooshing out of her body. Before she could move Tommy was over her with a knife at her throat. ‘Want me to finish her?’

  Before Stella could answer Daisy screamed, ‘If I gave you the information how do I know you weren’t planning to kill me?’

  ‘I’m your . . .’ Stella stumbled over what she was going to say, ‘. . . mum for God’s sake.’

  Daisy looked up to find the tall image of Stella standing over her. Tommy increased the pressure of the blade. Daisy’s fighting instincts kicked in. Tommy didn’t realise it but she’d already judged him to be a crap fighter. He was more a classic brawler with so many defences open it would be easy for her to take him down. All she had to do was kick him in the nuts, or maybe double jab him in the eyes, or catapult him so far in the air that when he landed he wouldn’t be able to tell his arse from his elbow. But she suppressed her fighting instincts. It wouldn’t do for Stella to find out she could stand on her own two feet.

  ‘You just tried to drown me,’ she finally shot back.

  ‘If I’d wanted to top you, you wouldn’t be lying on your back now giving me a load of lip. How do I know you didn’t get anything when you went into the bank today?’

  That shook Daisy up. Stella smiled. ‘You’ve been followed every step of the way, my girl.’

  ‘So you were the one who sent that man after me today?’ Daisy croaked.

  Stella moved away from Daisy and stared up at the Calamity Jane poster on the wall. ‘Me and you used to watch this when you were little.’ She gazed at Daisy as if it were just the two of them in the room. Suddenly Stella grinned. ‘You loved that bit where she gets to Chicago and starts singing about the Windy City. And when she sang the word pretty and made it sound like “purty” you always joined in.’ Abruptly the smile disappeared. ‘Now why don’t you be “nice and purty” and tell me what the number of the deposit box is?’

  ‘Can’t do that.’ Daisy continued with the lie she’d rehearsed earlier on. ‘You see, Charlie was having an affair. He kept a woman nicely tucked away in a house he bought for her. The deeds to the property are in the deposit box. I promised him that if anything ever happened to him I wouldn’t let his wife find out about the affair. That’s why I went into the bank today to try and get the deeds. I made a promise and I want to keep it.’

  Tommy growled. She felt a slither of blood trickle down her skin as the knife nicked lightly into her neck. But she held firm. She knew she was the one holding all the cards. ‘The only way you’re going to find out which safe-deposit box belongs to Charlie is with me by your side.’

  Billy took a step forward. Ricky pulled himself off the wall. Tommy gazed at her showing the disbelief the others were all feeling.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Stella asked.

  Daisy swallowed. ‘Whatever you’re planning to do to get Charlie’s deposit box, you’re going to have to take me with you.’

  Daisy rubbed her throat. The only damage Tommy had done was a scratch. After Daisy’s outrageous demand the room had grown quiet. Stella had looked at her as if she’d never really seen her before. Eventually Stella had called Tommy off and told Daisy to sit her backside down.

  ‘You’re playing a dangerous game, my girl.’ Stella was back in Stevie King’s chair behind her desk.

  ‘Maybe.’ Daisy tried to make her voice sound like she was in court, trying to talk round a judge. ‘But at least this way I’ll still be alive and get those property deeds before Charlie’s wife finds them.’

  ‘You’re Frankie’s kid alright, I don’t need a DNA test to see that.’ Daisy didn’t reply so Stella carried on. ‘Perhaps we can cut a deal here but let me tell you how it is. Number one, I give the orders and you follow them. Number two, you’ll be stopping here until the job’s over.’

  ‘What job?’ It was Ricky who spoke. Everyone looked at him. Realising the hired help weren’t meant to ask questions Ricky added, ‘No disrespect intended, Mrs King.’

  ‘Yeah, what job?’ Tommy echoed. He rubbed the piano tattoo on his neck.

  ‘You’ll find out tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ Daisy said.

  ‘You got a problem with houses of ill repute?’ Stella sneered. ‘Shame because the only way you’re in is if I have you tucked up right under my nose.’ Stella dismissed Daisy as she looked over at Ricky. ‘I’m appointing you as her personal bodyguard which means you stay with her twenty-four seven.’

  Daisy looked at Ricky. Then back at Stella. Her mother couldn’t mean . . . Daisy shot to her feet. ‘No way am I sharing a room with him.’

  Five minutes later Daisy realised that it wasn’t only the room she was sharing with Ricky but the bed as well. The room they entered froze every muscle and movement in her body. It was classic little girl pink, with a teddy still propped inside the cover of the double bed, furniture in colours a child would just adore and a dressing table that every little princess dreamed of. But what caught her eye was the framed photo of Frankie Sullivan smiling by the seaside, on the table by the bed. God how she needed her dad right now to help her figure her way out of this mess.

  ‘I’m glad to see you remember it,’ Stella said in the room.

  Daisy finally moved into what had once been her bedroom as a young child. Funny she didn’t remember much before the age of seven, but this room had always stayed with her.

  ‘I always knew you’d be back
.’ Stella smiled. Daisy tensed. She always worried when Stella smiled. ‘So I kept it ready just for you. Still got the same double bed you picked out yourself.’ Stella moved towards the door. ‘No pillow fights, you two.’ And with that she closed the door behind her.

  ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ Daisy shot at Ricky immediately. ‘You stick to your side of the bed and I’ll stick to mine.’

  ‘What? You don’t want me to roll over and whisper sweet nothings in your ear?’ His reply was offhand as his eyes roamed around the room as if he was looking for something.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Daisy asked as she plonked herself on the left corner of the bed.

  Ricky shot his gaze back at her. ‘I’m wondering why you never gave Mrs King what she wanted and then caught a bus back to Poshville?’ He held up his hand as her mouth opened, halting her reply. ‘And don’t give me no crap about this Charlie geezer having some bit of skirt cos I ain’t buying it.’

  She snapped her mouth shut. Screw him, she didn’t owe him an explanation. She ignored him and lay down on the bed. Tucked her body into a ball and faced the wall. She’d lost all track of time and hadn’t realised that the day had moved into the night. She pulled her phone out of her pocket. Immediately went to her saved photos. And stared at the safe-deposit box document images.

  Box number 41.

  While Daisy turned her back on him on the bed Ricky checked inside his carrier bag and looked down at the item his contact had given him in Canary Wharf.

  Stella watched the black-and-white images of Daisy and Ricky on the screen transmitted by the security camera in their room. She listened intently to their chit-chat because she knew that Daisy was up to something. Did Daisy really think she believed that cock-and-bull patter about needing to be present at the job because there was evidence that Charlie was pushing his post through another woman’s letterbox? She suspected the only naughties he ever indulged in were the pay-as-you-screw variety she provided. No, Daisy was up to something alright and Stella was keen to find out what it was. She turned away from the screen when she heard the door open and softly close on the other side of the room. Billy.