Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  A stunned Stella continued to gaze at her daughter’s body. Shit, what a mess.

  ‘That doctor was right,’ Stella finally said. ‘When you were little. You’re bloody mental. I should’ve had you locked up in that nut house . . .’

  Suddenly Jo-Jo flicked her face dead straight into her mum’s face. Stella jumped back at the sudden rage in Jo-Jo’s eyes. ‘No, it weren’t me that was bonkers, it was the babysitter. She’d bring blokes around. They’d take me and Tommy into the bedroom. Make us take our clothes off. Lie on the bed . . . I wanted to tell you years ago . . .’

  ‘No!’ Stella screamed.

  Stella’s arms flew out. Jo-Jo leant forward to fall into the embrace from her mum she’d waited years for. But instead Stella’s hands circled her neck. Jo-Jo’s disbelieving eyes bulged as her mum’s hands tightened. Jo-Jo’s nails dug into her mum’s arms. She fought, but Stella’s hold grew stronger. Stella slammed her youngest child into the sofa. She leant over. Increased the pressure. Doris Day’s piercing voice burst into the room singing about the joys of the Deadwood Stage. Stella pushed down harder. Jo-Jo’s eyes bulged as the tiny blood vessels in them burst. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth. Doris Day’s voice pulsed higher. Jo-Jo’s arms flopped by her side. Her scarred legs lay at an awkward angle. Her eyes stared lifeless at the person she’d loved most in the world.

  Stella’s shaking hands peeled away from her daughter’s neck. She leant down and grabbed Jo-Jo’s legs and held onto them as she moved back to her spot on the sofa. Gently she placed her daughter’s feet in her lap as if Jo-Jo was having a nap. She twisted to face the telly. Looked at Doris Day as she cracked a whip atop the Deadwood Stage. Cried like she hadn’t since she was fourteen years old.

  Ricky and Daisy got to the brothel in record time. As they jumped out of the car Ricky didn’t hear his phone ping. Didn’t read the urgent text message from his superior officer:

  Found out Stella King has/had an older brother.

  Be careful

  The woman on the flight from Spain got out of Gatwick’s terminal at exactly 8.47 p.m. She still wore her sunglasses even though darkness greeted her outside. She didn’t carry much, only a small overnight bag. She walked over to the taxi rank. Peered inside the black cab.

  ‘Where to, love?’ the cabbie asked.

  She thought for a minute. Thought about going to Finsbury Park. No, she wasn’t going to do that. Instead she answered, ‘City Hall.’

  Deadwood Hotel was dark. They crept towards the front door. Daisy didn’t speak as Ricky took out his tweezers to unpick the lock. He worked quickly and silently. Click. The lock gave way. Ricky drew his gun. Hesitated. Then pushed the door. He twisted his head to Daisy. Nodded. Twisted back. Shoved the door wider. Eased inside. The hallway was empty, and surprisingly cool for a summer’s night.

  ‘Check the first room,’ Ricky whispered, gun high and pointed forward. ‘And I’ll do the rest down here. Don’t forget: Jo-Jo is dangerous.’

  Daisy gave him a single nod. He left her, swiftly moving on his toes ahead. She pushed the door of the Meet ’n’ Greet room. She held back as the door swung open revealing the room. Semi-dark, curtains drawn, no one in sight. Stepped cautiously inside. The room looked like she’d seen it before, all prepared and ready for the next group of men who would choose their woman for the night. Then she noticed a difference. A shovel leant up against the piano. A chill went through her as her gaze settled on the piano, just like it had done the one and only time she’d been in here before.

  ‘Daisy, up here quick.’

  Hearing the urgency in Ricky’s voice she left the room and shot up the stairs. Reached Stella’s office. She found Ricky inside gazing at the sofa. Gazing at the dead body of Jo-Jo King.

  ‘Well, well, well. If it ain’t the dynamic duo.’

  Both of them looked around to find Stella standing in the doorway of one of the adjoining rooms. They gasped when they saw her. Saw the bloody bandage across her face. She held a revolver pointed straight at Daisy. Ricky automatically raised his gun.

  ‘Put it down or Daisy’s dead.’

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Ricky wavered for a second. Then dropped the gun. It clattered on the floor. ‘Kick it towards me,’ Stella ordered as she moved a few inches into the room.

  He did what she said. She ignored the gun as she came further into the room. ‘Don’t worry about my Jo-Jo, she’s just having a lie down.’

  There was a strange glint in her wild, grey eyes that made Daisy think that Stella really believed what she’d said. She knew they were dealing with a Stella they had never seen before.

  ‘Just having a little chat with Frankie.’ They could see the photos of Stella and Frankie on the wall behind her in the small room. ‘Thought I was a goner, didn’t you?’ she taunted them. ‘You can’t get rid of Stella King that easily.’

  ‘What happened to my sister twenty years ago?’

  Stella gave him a baffled look. ‘Your sister? Got the wrong lady. I’ve never met your sister in my life.’

  ‘Jenna Smart.’ Stella sucked in her breath. ‘I’m her younger brother.’

  ‘Ricardo, of course . . .’ Stella let out softly. ‘Jenna used to chat about you. How her brother was going to be somebody one day . . .’

  ‘And she was right,’ he cut in. ‘I’m Detective Ricardo Smart, so why don’t you give me the gun because my colleagues will be here soon.’

  ‘Colleagues.’ Stella rolled her eyes. ‘Oooh, get you. Jenna’s little brother chatting all smart.’ Then she laughed. ‘Smart. Get it?’

  Neither Daisy or Ricky responded. ‘Don’t play me for a complete tit,’ she said. ‘If the cops were coming they’d be here already. No, it’s just us.’ She slammed her gaze directly onto Daisy. ‘Get moving and open the door. And, lover boy, you follow her.’

  ‘Where we going?’ he asked, his body going rigid.

  ‘Thought you wanted to find out what happened to your darling big sister?’ She waved the gun at them. ‘Downstairs.’

  Ricky was the first to move. Daisy cautiously followed him. They reached the top of the stairs. Halted when they heard Stella say, ‘And no funny business or Daisy lands at the bottom of the stairs minus a head.’

  She kept pace with them as they took the stairs. Reached the darkened hallway. Stood outside the Meet ’n’ Greet room.

  They entered the room that Daisy had left minutes earlier.

  ‘Turn around,’ Stella ordered once they were deep inside the room. They did what she asked. The blood on the bandage on Stella’s face had deepened and spread.

  ‘Mum, you need medical attention . . .’ Daisy began.

  ‘Mum?’ Stella looked at her and laughed. The laughter soon fell away from her lips. ‘Why don’t you come over here and keep Mum company.’

  It wasn’t a question. Daisy kept her eyes nervously on the gun as she stepped forward. Stella’s arm snaked out and grabbed Daisy around the waist and pulled her into her body. Cool metal touched Daisy’s temple. The gun was on the side of her head. Daisy knew it would be easy to end this now. All she had to do was a quick three-step movement – jab Stella in the middle with her elbow, grab her gun arm and flip her over. But she didn’t. Didn’t because then Ricky might never find out what happened to his sister.

  Before Daisy could continue to turn her decision over in her head, Stella ordered Ricky, ‘Move the piano.’

  Ricky moved across the room. Looked for a few seconds at the large piano. Then began to move it. It shifted easily on its wheels. He shoved it with all his might halfway across the room, up against a wall. He straightened and looked back at Stella. ‘Go back to where the piano was and remove the floorboards.’ He caught Daisy’s fretful blue eyes. Looked away and moved back to the other side of the room. He crouched down and looked at the floorboards. Then he noticed that one had a little hole in it at the top. He slipped two fingers inside and pulled it up. It moved with surprising ease. He flung the plank of wood to the side. After
that it was easy to remove the next one. The third. The fourth. The fifth.

  ‘That’s enough. You’ve saved me a job, see, I was getting ready to do this myself when you two arrived. I should’ve done it years ago. You’re going to be needing that.’ He followed her gaze to the shovel against the wall.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ The agonised expression on Ricky’s face told that he already knew the answer.

  She pressed the gun deeper into Daisy’s skin. ‘Start digging.’

  Now she knew that what happened twenty years ago led to a hole in the ground Daisy made her move. With lightning speed she slammed her elbow back. But Stella was ready for her. The older woman heaved her body back, never removing the gun from Daisy’s flesh. Daisy sucked in her breath and froze. Ricky froze too.

  Stella’s snarled words tore through the tense air. ‘I know all the tricks of the trade, darlin’. Frankie teach you how to drop kick the world with your hands tied behind your back?’ Daisy didn’t answer. She didn’t dare with that gun at her head. ‘Well, he taught me as well. Punters stopped trying to do me over in those early days on the street. Try that shit again and you won’t be around to try any more moves.’ She looked across at Ricky. ‘Now dig.’

  Ricky did what he was told for the next ten minutes. Sweat rolled down his face, not just from the hard work and the radiating pain in his arm, but also in anticipation that he might finally find out what had happened to Jenna. His heart slammed each time he pushed into the dirt knowing that he might be seeing the remains of his sister any second now. Suddenly the shovel hit something hard. He held the shovel back as he crouched down and used one hand to wipe the dirt back. He reared back when he saw the top of a metal box, of a similar size to a coffin. He opened the lid and coughed as dirt swam into his face. He looked down to see an assortment of bones, including a skull and ragged bits of decaying cloth. ‘Jenna,’ he wanted to cry out. Then he saw it. Something small, metal and round. He leant forward and picked it up. A ring.

  Ricky stood up holding the ring. ‘This didn’t belong to my sister.’

  ‘’Course it don’t, you tosser. That was just a little joke of mine.’

  Ricky stepped closer. Daisy kept her eyes on the ring. She’d seen that ring before somewhere. Recently. But where? Who? W . . . ? Her mind skidded to a halt. She knew where. She knew who. She caught Ricky’s eyes and read the answer in them.

  She forgot about the gun and blasted, ‘That ring belongs to Maxwell Henley.’

  ‘Belonged,’ Stella corrected calmly. ‘I’d do it all over again, you know.’

  ‘Why did you kill him?’ Ricky went into Detective interrogating a suspect mode.

  ‘Because of Daisy, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Daisy shot back, shocked by the words. Shocked that somehow she was involved in a murder she didn’t remember.

  ‘Both of you, near the door,’ Stella ordered, ignoring the question. She shoved Daisy forward. Daisy, mind still reeling, moved to stand with Ricky at the still open door.

  ‘Turn right and keep moving until you get to the stairs.’

  They did what she asked. When they reached the stairs Daisy realised where they were going – to the room in the basement where Stella had almost drowned her. Daisy shivered as if she was back under water again.

  The door slammed behind them. The lock clicked into place. Ricky rushed towards the handle. Thumped the door. It was locked.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Daisy asked as her eyes roamed over the room where her mum had shown her the delights of underwater entertainment. He didn’t answer her. Instead he got out his tweezers and inserted it into the lock.

  Stella sang ‘Secret Love’ as she got kitted out for the occasion – an off the shoulder, red evening dress that swung and swirled around her body; Roger Vivier lipstick-red 1950s stiletto heels. A wide-brimmed, floppy black hat with a heavy scarf underneath hid the injured side of her face. Scarlet clutch bag. Then she picked up the thing that completed her evening wear look. Her spray-and-pray accessory – an Uzi.

  ‘Shit,’ he slammed out as his fingers tried out their magic on the lock. It still wouldn’t give.

  ‘Let me try,’ Daisy insisted. ‘Your hands are shaking. You’re upset about not finding out about your sister, although I’d be thanking God that that’s not her remains downstairs.’ She laid her hand on his arm. He stopped. Sighed. Looked at her. Nodded. Immediately she took the tweezers from him.

  ‘You’re trying to get the pins in the lock to . . .’

  ‘I know, I know,’ she answered, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her task. ‘My dad taught me.’

  ‘Should’ve known.’

  The lock wasn’t easy. She drew in a steady breath. Kept her fingers on the tweezers moving, to the left, to the right, up, down. Once more to the right. Click.

  ‘Done it.’ She flung the door open. They sprinted up the stairs. Hearts racing, breath crashing in the air they stopped and looked around.

  ‘We need to find out where she’s gone.’

  ‘But how?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Her office.’ Ricky was already running as he spoke. They dived up the stairs. First floor. Second. Hit the office with Stella and Daisy printed on the yellow door. Ricky kicked it open. The telly was on, showing a satellite news channel’s live coverage of the gala event at City Hall and the guests arriving outside.

  ‘Right,’ Ricky said, eyes darting around. ‘Check everything for clues where your mum’s headed.’

  So that’s what they did for the next ten minutes. Nothing. Exhausted, Daisy held her hands on her hips as the pain in her leg made its presence felt again.

  Ricky thumped his fist into the wall. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ Suddenly he stopped when he heard his phone ping. Text message. He pulled out the phone.

  Found out Stella King has/had an older brother.

  Be careful

  Ricky stared thoughtfully at the message. Brother? He lifted his head to stare at Daisy. ‘Did your mum have a brother?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know – in any case, I can do without meeting another long-lost family member.’ Abruptly she changed the conversation. ‘Have you still got my pills?’ Ricky gazed back at her, eyebrows lifted, as she’d gone completely loco.

  ‘This ain’t no time to be getting into the twilight zone.’

  She rushed over to him. ‘I know you think I’m a nut, but every time Dad comes to me, he really does help me out. And if we don’t get more information we won’t find Stella.’ She held her hand out.

  Ricky shook his head. ‘I must be going off my rocker as well.’ He shoved his hand into his back pocket. Took out the bottle. Opened it. Lay a pill into her palm. She shoved it into her mouth. Swallowed. Spun away from Ricky. Closed her eyes.

  A few minutes later she opened them. Smiled. There was Frankie sitting in Stevie King’s chair with his feet propped up on the desk. He wore casual at-home clothes – black jeans, opened polo shirt and check slippers. Before she could speak he started talking.

  ‘When I was eleven I took the beating of my life. Another gang – the Preston bunch, that’s it – kicked seven bells outta me and my mates. We were running scared for days until a little bird whispers in my ear that I need to get on the box. Know what that means?’

  Daisy ignored his question and cut in, ‘Dad, forget that, I need—’

  But he didn’t let her finish. Just carried on. ‘Get yourself down the gym and learn how to throw a punch. So we went down this boys’ boxing club in Bethnal Green. That’s where I met Billy Doyle. He used to coach the kids in between looking after Stevie King’s back.’

  ‘Dad.’ Daisy’s frustration grew.

  Frankie eased out of the chair. Pushed back the blond hair that had flopped over his forehead. ‘After I’d been on the box for six months the Preston gang couldn’t touch me. Next time they crossed our path they were the ones picking up their teeth from the floor. I learnt every fighting move on the box . . .’

  ‘Sto
p talking about being on the box! I need your help,’ Daisy yelled.

  ‘On the box, baby. It’s all on the box.’ Frankie’s voice lowered into a whisper.

  She continued to stare at him, shaking her head.

  ‘Daisy.’ She didn’t hear the first call of her name. ‘Daisy?’ She half heard it now but didn’t respond. ‘Daisy.’ This time it was a battle cry. She flipped around to find Ricky standing anxiously behind her.

  ‘We don’t have time for a séance, we need to shift ourselves.’ He grabbed her arm.

  She looked back at him as he marched her to the door. ‘He just kept talking about how he’d learnt to defend himself. About being on the box.’

  Ricky shook his head. ‘The sooner you give those pills the push the better.’

  ‘On the box. On the box . . .’ She kept whispering as they reached the door. Frustrated she looked back at Ricky. Caught the telly still on in the background. Caught the image on the screen.

  Abruptly she wriggled out of Ricky’s grasp. She stepped away from him and pointed. ‘On the box,’ she said. He followed her finger pointed at the telly. ‘Look who’s on . . . the . . . box.’

  The screen still showed live film of the gala event at City Hall. The camera closed in on guests arriving to witness the announcement of the first-ever female Met police commissioner. The camera settled on the smartly dressed figure of someone they knew.

  Randal Curtis. Arms wrapped around his wife.

  ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ Ricky let out in an astonished voice.

  ‘Must be. He was in the photo. The person Stella was talking to when we were hiding in her office has got a daughter, he’s got a daughter. He was Charlie Hopkirk’s partner. He must be the other person involved in this.’

  ‘And, I suspect, Stella’s older brother.’

  ‘What?’ Daisy’s incredulous voice filled the room.

  ‘Didn’t you tell me that Randal Curtis was born to a working-class London family? He’s the only one who can be her brother. He’s the only one who fits.’ Ricky muttered as if chatting away to himself. ‘What if Stella’s gone to get him to make sure that no one involved in Maxwell Henley’s death is alive to tell the tale?’