Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Without another word Stella and Jo-Jo got out of the car and disappeared into the dark, evening light.

  Ricky and Daisy were soon in the front of the car, eyes pinned to the house, a disgruntled silence between them. Neither of them said a word, not until Daisy heard Ricky moan, that was. She turned to find his face contorted in pain and his hand clutching his stomach.

  Both shocked and concerned she swiftly let out, ‘What’s the matter?’

  For a few seconds he didn’t answer, the pain rippling deep into his face. ‘I don’t recommend eating dope on an empty tummy. I should have had some chips with it.’

  She remembered the cannabis he’d swallowed just before going through the police check. ‘Do you need to go to the hospital?’

  ‘Oh yeah. And when I explain what’s caused my symptoms, they’ll call the cops. And we really need to see them, don’t we?’

  He lurched for the car door handle. Opened it. Leant outside and puffed and sucked in fresh air After a few minutes he drew himself back inside, gulping harshly, his forehead streaming with sweat.

  Daisy kept her body close to his, the worry imprinted on her face. ‘I’m taking you to the hospital.’

  ‘No,’ he replied weakly, looking at her. ‘I’m alright. I just need to chill for a few minutes.’ She gave him the time he needed, then asked, ‘If your sister brought you up to be a good guy how did you end up on the bad side of the law?’

  Ricky sang the first line from Sam Cooke’s ‘A Change Is Gonna Come’ about being born in a tent by the river. Seeing the puzzlement on her face he continued, ‘Not a Sam Cooke fan then – “A Change Is Gonna Come”?’

  Next he did something that made her stiffen. He ignited the engine.

  ‘What you doing?’

  ‘We’re heading back.’

  She spluttered, ‘But we can’t. The house. Stella.’

  ‘Fuck Stella . . .’

  ‘But what if . . . ?’

  ‘The Easter bunny comes hopping out of the door?’ He laughed softly making Daisy wonder how stoned he actually was. ‘All Mr Bank manager and his missus are gonna do is slip their slippers on and have an easy family night in. It’s not like you’ve got anywhere else to go tonight now is it?’

  ‘No I haven’t, but you’re in no state to drive.’

  They swapped seats. As she drove away from the bank manager’s house Ricky flipped the radio on. The doomed beat of Seal’s ‘Killer’ boomed around them.

  Suddenly Ricky shot up straight in his seat. ‘This ain’t the way back . . .’

  ‘I know.’ Daisy kept her grim blue eyes on the road.

  ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Let’s just say there’s a few people I need to visit.’

  Ricky had done loads of crazy things in his life but climbing over the gates into a darkened graveyard was a first.

  ‘Come on,’ Daisy urged, already climbing over the brick wall at the back end of the cemetery. Ricky shook his head but followed. They both landed next to a large tree with a wind chime ringing sweetly in the night breeze.

  ‘Perhaps you can explain, seeing as we’re not actually dead yet,’ Ricky stared sarcastically. ‘What we are doing here?’

  ‘Visiting,’ was her simple response before she charged forward.

  Humming Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’, Ricky followed. They twisted and turned through the graves. Finally they stopped beside a grave with a black headstone, gold writing.

  ‘I envy you,’ he said suddenly with a soft gentleness.

  Strange thing to say, Daisy thought. ‘Why?’

  ‘At least you were able to lay your dad to rest. I’ve never had that with Jenna. That’s why this is important to me. I need to lay her to rest.’

  She thought about what happened when she took her pills. ‘Even when they’re dead they don’t necessarily rest.’

  They stood in silence for a while. Then she said, ‘That’s my Gran next door.’ Ricky took a step to the right and looked. Onyx headstone, gold writing.

  MILLICENT ‘MILLIE’ SULLIVAN

  An oval photograph was in the right-hand corner. The dark obscured most of the features of the woman, so Ricky leant forward and peered harder.

  ‘My dad hated her. I never knew why.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But he’d always take me to visit her grave. Insisted we clean it every time we came.’

  Ricky caught the lower half of the woman’s face in the photo. She was smiling. His head rocked back in confusion. He was sure he’d seen that smile before. He looked sideways at Daisy. No, he hadn’t seen it on her. He carelessly shrugged his shoulders. A million people must have that smile.

  Ricky’s thoughts slid sideways as his mobile went off. He walked away leaving Daisy some privacy with her dad.

  The man on the other end of the line immediately said, ‘Tell me my eyes are lying and that wasn’t Frankie Sullivan’s daughter I saw you with?’

  ‘Stop worrying. Daisy’s just a background player in all of this.’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re developing the horn for this girl.’

  Ricky was needled, ‘Never mind no girl. What you need to know is that the job is on for Friday.’

  ‘What’s happening tomorrow?’

  ‘I assume that Stella King’s is getting her troops and gear into place.’

  ‘You’re definite that it’s all going down on Friday?’

  ‘Of course. If it weren’t, I would know about it. Wouldn’t I?’

  Jo-Jo was pleased with herself, so she gave herself a little treat. She cut herself three times across her lower leg. She sat on the ledge of her bath in her flat as the blood eased down her pale skin. For the first time in years she’d seen the love her mum had once had for her start to grow back in her eyes. That’s all she had to do was make Stella think she was useful. That she couldn’t live without her. That she couldn’t do this bank job without her. Mummy’s little girl was going to become the centre of her life.

  She picked up the quarter bottle of gin next to her and drank hungrily from it. As the booze and adrenalin pumped through her a fist pounded against the front door. She sprang up, disorientated. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Quickly she cleaned the blood from her leg. Wrapped her long dressing gown over her naked body. The pounding started again.

  ‘Keep your drawers on.’

  She curled her lips when she saw who was on the other side of the door.

  Billy. In his hand he held a small holdall bag.

  He muscled inside without saying a word. She twisted around, ready to blast him with her tongue, but he slung the bag at her feet. ‘There’s a hundred grand there. I want you to take it and clear out for good.’

  The latest scars on her legs started to itch as the fury exploded from her mouth. ‘Who the fucking hell do you think you are? Coming into my gaff and telling me what I should be doing with my life.’

  He took a step towards her and sneered, ‘We all know what you are and I ain’t letting you come into your mum’s life to hurt her again. Or anyone else.’

  Suddenly she grew very calm and walked ever so slowly towards him. ‘What you worried about, Billy boy?’ Her question was soft. ‘Worried that Mummy’s gonna find out that it weren’t just her fella I was screwing all those years ago?’

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed convulsively. ‘Now you listen here . . .’

  ‘Did you come back for some more, Billy?’ she continued, her voice even softer. ‘You been missing getting your mitts on these?’ She pulled the top of her dressing gown apart revealing her small breasts.

  Strain tightened on his face as he stepped back as if her words had ignited a wall of flames in front of him. ‘Just take the money . . .’

  But she kept advancing. ‘It ain’t me who wants to do the taking, now is it?’

  He tried to dodge her by trying to walk around her, but she flung herself at him. Wrapped her thin arms around his waist. Ground her breasts against his back. ‘I like a bloke who knows what he likes.’
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  As swift as her whispered words left her he half twisted his body and lifted her off her feet. He slammed her into the wall. She breathed heavily as she looked at him and knew that he was either going to punch her lights out or fuck her until she couldn’t stand up.

  He hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around him before she could muster another thought. Was shoving himself forcefully inside her, grunting and groaning like a man at the gates of heaven. As he came heavily into her she whispered, ‘You know who should be head of Mum’s empire? Should be you, Billy. Something might happen to Mum during this job. You gonna let a dimwit like Tommy rule the roost? He’d spoil everything for everyone. He hasn’t got it. Not like you have. Everyone says so.’

  He flung her away from him. Pulled up his zip. ‘Take the money,’ he spat out. Then was gone.

  She lay crouched on the floor where he’d pushed her. After a few seconds she smiled up at the closed door. Heaved herself to her feet. Ignored the bag of money. Ambled towards the bathroom to cut herself again. Five minutes later she headed for her bedroom. Sat on the single bed and popped up the lid of the laptop she’d been using earlier. An Amy Winehouse screen saver stared back at her. She pressed the toolbar and activated the website she’d been looking at earlier.

  Jim Clarke was stone cold sober for the first time in twenty years. He sat alone, in the sitting room of his semi in East Ham. Sat on the rumpled blue settee that he’d often fall asleep on because he was just too pissed to make it to his bedroom upstairs. He stared at the framed photograph in his hand. His graduation picture from Hendon. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth crinkled as he admired his young self, all pristine and neat, back in the days when he vowed to be the best cop on the beat. Back in the days when he believed there was a clear line between right and wrong. Back in the days before that night twenty years ago. His smile disappeared as his lips trembled.

  For twenty years he’d been using the booze to run away from the guilt. But he was tired of running. Tired of the drink. Tired of the guilt. His fingers clutched the photo as he switched his gaze and looked at what he held in his other hand. A gun. He gazed at the idealistic man in the photo one last time.

  The tall man walked into Daisy’s apartment block. He had a determined face, sharp suit and shoulder-length chestnut hair that kicked up with each purposeful step he took. He strode past the concierge as if he didn’t exist. Something about the man held an air of violence that kept the concierge welded to his seat. The concierge might be paid to man the reception hall but his wages didn’t cover putting his life on the line for nobody.

  The man knew exactly where he was going. Took the lift. Got out on the right floor. Reached Daisy’s door. There was no need to break in because he had a key. He let himself in. Moved inside. Quietly closed the door. He gave the entrance hall a quick once-over. Strode into the main room. Scanned around. His gaze stopped when he saw a tissue on the armrest of the single sofa. He picked it up. Sucked in his breath when he realised what was on it. Dried blood.

  His gaze swept around looking for more blood. Signs of a struggle. When he found none he walked into the bedroom. The first thing that caught his attention was that the wardrobe door was open, but other than that everything else looked normal.

  He stepped back into the main room. He walked towards the TV and looked down at the Calamity Jane video box on top of it. Pulled out his mobile. ‘It’s me. She’s gone. I found blood in the sitting room.’ He paused as the other person spoke. ‘When can you get here?’ He listened. ‘Tomorrow morning? Let’s hope that’s not too late. As soon as you get in, we go and find her.’ He stopped as the other person interrupted him. ‘I know who she’s with alright.’ He paused as his tongue wet his lips. ‘You ain’t gonna like this. She’s hooked up with Stella King.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  As soon as they left the cemetery and got back to the car Daisy’s phone went off. Ricky twisted the ignition as Daisy stared at the caller ID on the screen of her mobile. Shock rippled through her. Jerome. Shit, she was meant to be at his parents’ party. How the heck could she have forgotten?

  She pushed the phone urgently to her face.

  ‘Jerome, sweetheart . . .’

  His interruption was angry. ‘Where the hell were you?’

  ‘I’m really sorry . . .’ She could feel Ricky’s eyes burning into her.

  ‘You made me look like a real fool. I bought a ring. I was going to ask you to marry me.’

  Daisy sucked in her breath. ‘Marry me?’

  ‘Yeah. Stupid me. I was hoping to announce our engagement before Mummy and Daddy go on holiday early tomorrow.’

  She couldn’t tell him the truth. ‘An emergency came up . . .’

  ‘Like another man maybe?’

  ‘Jerome,’ she pleaded down the phone, but the line was already dead. ‘Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.’ She held the phone to her chest and started to sob.

  She only realised that Ricky had pulled the car to a stop in a side street when she felt his arms go around her.

  ‘Posh boy giving you a hard time?’

  She raised her tear-streaked face to him. ‘It’s me who’s giving him the run around. I was meant to meet his parents for the first time tonight. His mum and dad are really important people. I totally forgot. Why am I making a mess of my whole life?’

  Ricky soothed his hand over her hair. ‘You know what my sister would have said? It just weren’t meant to be.’

  Her expression turned from upset to furious in a heartbeat. ‘What are you saying? That a girl like me doesn’t deserve a slice of the happiness pie?’

  His hand slid to cup her neck. ‘No, I ain’t. But tell me if I’ve got this wrong? This Jerome geezer was your entry into a world that you never thought in a million years you would get your foot in. You were finally gonna leave the trash that comes with being Frankie Sullivan’s daughter behind. I bet your fella don’t even know who your old man is?’ He knew from her expression that he’d hit that one right on the nail. ‘Is that what you’re gonna do for the rest of your days, Daisy? Pretend you ain’t who you are?’

  Her hands lashed out so quickly he never saw them coming. She smacked him across the face with such fury that his head rocked back. She did it again. And again. Ricky let her, not moving a muscle to defend himself. As she went in for the kill a fourth time she suddenly sagged on to him and started to cry like she was a kid all over again.

  His arms tightened around her trembling body. ‘You’ve been angry for a long, long time. Why did Frankie Sullivan have to be your old man? Why couldn’t your mum have been the apple-pie-scented woman next door?’ He placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

  She eased her head back and stared up at him, her blue eyes damp and lost. They just stared at each other for a few seconds. Then his hands cupped her face. His lowered his lips and softly touched them to her quivering mouth. He deepened the kiss. She opened her mouth. As their tongues tangled her hands shot down and fumbled with the zip on his jeans. He urgently pulled down her tracksuit bottoms. Ten seconds later they were deep into the wildest sex Daisy had ever had in her life. They clung together as they reached a shattering climax. And then, as soon as it was over, Ricky swore viciously. ‘We shouldn’t have done that. No way was that meant to happen’

  Surprised, she stared at him. Wasn’t that her line? She was the one with the boyfriend. She gazed at him, miffed that he was already regretting what for her had been a moment full of fireworks and extreme pleasure.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. It didn’t mean anything,’ she replied between pants as she pushed him off.

  His cocky grin blasted across his face. ‘I know. Ain’t no way proper little Miss Daisy wants to be seen with a jailbird on her arm.’ He looked at her as she righted her clothes. ‘What I meant was I didn’t mean that to happen because I wasn’t packing any protection. Are we OK?’

  Daisy sucked in her breath. Of course. Shit. She wasn’t on the pill as it made her feel really bad, so she and Jerom
e were always careful. A baby? She didn’t need that kind of complication. She shook her head. No, they’d only done it once, it just wouldn’t happen. Would it?

  Ricky’s grin broadened. ‘Little Miss Daisy holding a little version of Ricky, now wouldn’t that be something.’

  She almost lunged for him, but didn’t. Instead she used her tongue as a weapon instead. ‘Why don’t you put your deflating dick away and get us back to the house of the rising sun.’

  Johnson cursed inwardly as he approached Clarke’s house. He’d called that fat fuck a million and one times with no response. When he got him he was going to beat him sober and slap into him that they still had a job to do. Two more days and the job would be over and he could get on with his life and never have to set eyes on his former partner again. He banged on the blue front door and yelled, ‘Clarke, it’s me, open up.’

  He tapped the heel of his Italian shoe impatiently against the concrete doorstep. No response. He knocked again. Waited. No response. He shifted to the window at the side. Curtain closed, but lights on. He gave his head a savage shake. Clarke must be out like a pop star with a royalty cheque. He sidled back to the door. Looked around checking there was no one in sight. He tore off his jacket. Rolled it around his arm. Smashed the side of his covered hand into the glass on the door. The glass shattered into the hallway. He pushed his hand further in, to the side. Found the lock. With a single twist opened it. He pulled his arm back and opened the door.

  His head reared back at the stale smell that greeted him. He hadn’t realised that things had got this bad for Clarke. He shut the door and briskly walked towards the room where the lights were on. The door was partially opened. He pushed it with his foot. His whole body jerked back at the sight that greeted him. Clarke was slumped back on the sofa, but he wasn’t drunk. Blood and his brains were splattered against the wall behind the huge bullet wound inside Clarke’s mouth. In his lap lay the gun he’d used on himself.