by Martina Cole
As she jumped around the room to Aswad he smiled at her.
‘Where you going?’
‘Ministry of Sound with a few girls. It’s Candace’s birthday so it’ll be a late one.’
She was telling him what he wanted to know. She wasn’t going to come home and interrupt his evening.
He smiled at her.
‘Have a good time.’
‘I will, you know me. Do you want me to make you any sandwiches or anything before I go?’
He shook his head. Taking a wad of money from his pocket, he pushed it into her hand.
She grinned. Her white teeth were even and perfect; he had always liked her teeth.
‘Thanks. See you later then.’
She kissed him and left the house. He turned off the stereo and savoured the quiet. Sarah was a good girl, but she was noisy.
Alan Jarvis was worried. He had sixteen kilos of cocaine in his yard and no one had turned up to collect it. He had rung everyone concerned in the transaction and no one was answering. Every time he heard a car he expected it to be Old Bill.
He lit another cigarette and then saw one still smoking in the ash tray. He stubbed them both out and poured another large Scotch. As he stood at the window of the Portakabin a white Transit van pulled into the yard. A large black man got out and Alan walked outside to meet him.
‘Can I help you, mate?’
‘You Alan Jarvis?’
He nodded, wary suddenly.
‘Who wants to know?’
As he spoke the back of the Transit opened and three other men got out. All black, all big. He felt nausea assail him as he realised what was going down.
‘Who are you?’
His voice sounded much more aggressive than he felt. He was a coward, and he knew it.
‘We come to pick up some gear, ain’t we?’
The man smiled. He had gold teeth and Alan’s eyes were drawn to them.
‘What gear?’
The man grinned again. ‘What gear? Are you a fucking comedian by any chance? We’re after the two beams for Freddie Jackson. We got lost on the M25 - else we would have been here ages ago.’
Alan felt the tension escape his body. He had forgotten all about the two steel beams. Had forgotten that Freddie wanted them today.
‘Oh, right, follow me.’
They followed him across the yard and he showed them the beams.
‘Measure up yourself, I have to get back for a call, OK?’
‘Are you all right, mate?’
‘Yeah, bit pissed is all.’
The men watched him. He knew he was acting strangely. He saw the first man shrug at his colleagues and warned himself to calm down. But his nerves were shot. He went back into the office and poured himself more Scotch. The sooner he was out of this the better.
He poured another shot and went through all the numbers again. No one was answering.
Patrick was cross and consequently Tiffany was quiet. As they drove to Leroy’s he kept staring at her face intently. She had put on a lot of make-up and knew she looked OK. This had pacified him a little.
But what had happened earlier had rattled her. If he knew her mother had been to the house he would go ballistic. This was her life: lying, cheating, never letting on about things. She had learned that from her mother as a child and it had served her in good stead ever since.
He smiled at her and she felt her heart lift. He was still the man she had given herself to and had a child with. This Patrick she loved. It was the other Patrick, the one who was going to take her to a strange man’s house and leave her there, that she hated. She smiled back, her heart lighter. At least he wasn’t cross with her any more.
Inside she knew she should get out of the car and run. But she had no chance on her own. She was in too deep. She had to keep this up and take the money and wait until he tired of her.
It was the thought of the money that kept her going. The thing about Patrick was, he could be so loving, so kind, that he brought tears to her eyes. That man she was seeing less and less of. But the memory of him was still fresh and he could still break her heart with a casual smile or look.
He stopped the car in a layby and took her into his arms.
‘I love you, Tiff. You are the only one I love. You know that, don’t you?’
She nodded sadly.
‘You make me get cross with you by being a cunt. I have all my businesses to run and I don’t need added hag, love. I really don’t. You, of all people, should know that.’
‘I’m sorry, Pat.’
She was sorry and the fact amazed her. He had the knack of making you feel everything that happened was your own fault.
He squeezed her to him, feeling her delicate ribs through the crop top she was wearing.
‘You’re a good kid, Tiff. And a good little mum as well.’
She basked in his attention, all her earlier doubts out of the window now. He was her man again and he was making her feel good.
He prepared a pipe for her.
‘Have a whiff, girl, let the good feelings roll.’
He was laughing as she inhaled the crack. It was a large rock, more than she had ever had before, and she felt her body relax. It felt as if her bones were melting and she could disappear into a small space if she needed to. The high didn’t last long but the good feelings were still around her. She leant her head back against the seat and exhaled slowly. Patrick covered her mouth with his, his tongue exploring her until she tingled. This was what she wanted, what she liked. What she needed.
She felt safe again, safe with her man.
As bad as he was, Patrick would take care of her, she was sure of that now. She just had to accept him as he was.
When she was stoned, she saw him as a different man. He was the person who gave her the means to get out of her head. She loved the feeling that crack gave her. Loved the feeling of being part of the world around her without actually having to join in. She felt fluid, relaxed and able to cope with life. As she let the good feelings roll she knew that, no matter what happened to her, crack would always be a part of her life. It was wonderful to leave the world behind and just chill out.
Anastasia was far from her mind now, as were her mother and brother. She was into the moment, and, like all drug addicts, for her the moment never lasted quite long enough.
Patrick watched her. Her eyes were closed and she was in her secret place. He loved the power this gave him. He had made her into what she was and she was his. All the time he had a few rocks she was his. A few more weeks and she would do anything for a rock; she was nearly there now. Soon she would have to perform to get the rock, and that was when he would really earn from her. He’d get her on to the street, earning exclusively for him.
He was smiling as he pulled out of the layby. The stripping and the lap dancing had broken down her reserves. Next step was getting her out on the pavement and teaching her to take care of herself once she hit the street. Then he could concentrate on his new girls and Tiffany would be just another earning machine, someone he saw twice a day to give her drugs and collect her money. It was too easy really. It was all too easy.
He dropped her off at Leroy’s and drove away without a backward glance. He knew what she was in for but it didn’t cross his mind to warn her so she knew what to expect, she was so out of it she would just go with the flow.
He was already on to the next deal and the next girl. Tiffany was nothing to him now, damaged goods. Already used by others and himself.
Marie and Carole Halter sat in the pub nursing drinks. Marie was looking at a large gin and tonic and resisting the urge to drink it. She was off alcohol, had been for years, but seeing her daughter had brought back the urge to obliterate everything as she used to all those years ago.
‘Drink it, Marie, one bleeding drink won’t hurt,’ urged Carole.
‘I should be back at the hostel. If they knew I’d discharged myself . . .’
‘Fuck them. How they going to know?’
<
br /> Marie sipped the drink and the acid taste hit her, making her eyes water.
‘To see her like that, Cal . . . I’d convinced myself she was a regular person. That she was having a normal life. Boyfriends, the usual. I never dreamt she was involved with him. That he was dragging her down like he did me.’
Marie finished the drink in two gulps. Her hands were shaking and her head felt as if it was going to explode. She looked at the clock. It was after eight-thirty. She stood up. She knew that another drink would be the end of her. She would go on it for the night.
‘I have to go, Cal. I have to get back to the hostel and hope against hope that they don’t report me. I’ll be in touch tomorrow and then I want you to tell me everything you know, OK?’
There was a hidden threat in the words and Carole stared down into her glass. She couldn’t look her old friend in the face.
‘Before you go, Marie, Karen Black is still out for you. I saw her and her mates at the hospital, they were brewing something. You know what she’s like. Watch yourself.’
Marie laughed gently.
‘I’ve been watching my back for twelve years, it’s kind of a habit now.’
She walked from the pub and hailed a cab.
Leroy liked the look of Tiffany. Her thinness appealed to him, being so thin himself, and her eyes with the pupils so dilated looked dreamy. He realised immediately she was out of her head and gave her a large glass of white wine laced with Rohypnol. He had already set up the camera in the bedroom. All he had to do now was wait for the drug to take effect and then he could play with her for hours and she wouldn’t make a sound.
He smiled at her as she sipped the wine. It was sweet and cold. Tiffany gulped at it, hoping that the alcohol would blot out tonight.
Then she smiled back at him.
Teddy Prendergrass was on the CD and the soft sounds penetrated her mind. She wanted to relax, could feel her body going fluid once more. As Leroy led her into the bedroom she stumbled, but her mind registered the array of tools laid out on the bed before she lost control of her bodily functions.
Leroy stripped her off as he hummed along to ‘Turn Off the Lights’. It was one of Teddy’s best tracks and he played it at least once a day. As he looked down at the girl he squeezed her breast hard, but she didn’t cry out. She wasn’t capable. Positioning her for the camera, he went to work.
In a few days it would all start to come back to her. He wished he could see her face when that happened.
It would add to the excitement.
Patrick’s sister Busby was a huge woman, much taken with African head-dresses and bright printed clothes. She was religious to the point of mania, being a gospel singer. Her brother was like her child. She was twenty years older than him and believed he was a good man leading a good life. No one had yet had the guts to tell her differently. It wasn’t just Patrick’s reputation that stopped people, it was her kindness. Busby would give the bread out of her mouth to anyone in need. She believed everyone to be as good, kind and decent as she was.
When she heard her brother’s voice she called out to him loudly. He was everything to her. Always had been.
‘Hello, baby. I was just thinking about you.’
He hugged her hard and kissed her. He acted loud and jovial, everything she wanted him to be. He was also far more West Indian when he was with her.
‘You’re looking good, girl! Can I use your dining room for a chat with a friend? You know Maxie? He has a problem, and we need somewhere quiet to talk it over.’
‘’Course you can. Take him through and I’ll bring you some chicken and rice and a cold drink.’
Patrick hugged her again.
‘Thank you. I knew I could rely on you.’
He walked through to the dining room with its picture of the Last Supper and the large wooden crucifix above the doorway. Shutting the door, he sat at the table with his friend Maxie James.
‘This place is giving me the creeps, Pat.’
He laughed.
‘Don’t let it get to you, it’s the safest place in the smoke. I use it when I want to talk freely. She’s a soul sister, man, you know that. Remember Easton, the husband! They good people. He died and now she lives for me and the church. So chill out and eat, she makes the best chicken and rice in the country.’
Maxie had no choice but to do as he was told. He needed this meet with Patrick to sort a few things out. At least he was safe here and admitted to himself that he didn’t always feel safe lately when he was with Patrick Connor. No one did any more, it was like he had become a different person overnight. He had always been a lad, a bad boy. Now, though, he was a bona fide lunatic and that was worrying in itself. Especially if you were a partner in a deal with him.
Busby brought in plates of food and cold drinks, bread and collard beans. Soon Maxie was eating with gusto and Patrick saw him visibly relax. He smiled, his most engaging smile.
‘See, this is a treat, man, as well as a business meeting.’
Maxie grinned back. Pushing his locks over his shoulder he shovelled in more food.
‘So what’s this new deal then?’
Patrick sipped at his Diet Coke then, grimacing, took out a small bottle of white rum and topped up both glasses.
‘I want to expand, that’s all. I’ve seen opportunities for big deals all over. I have two new suppliers on hold, one in Holland and one in Brussels. We can piss the market and rake in the dough. Easy.’
Maxie stopped chewing.
‘We big already. We get bigger then we become too noticeable, you know that. The filth’s all over us as it is. How you gonna work this in with everything else, man? Be reasonable, Patrick. We got enough.’
He was expecting this.
‘I don’t think you understand me, Maxie. I ain’t asking you, man, I telling you. It’s already set up, all you got to do is recruit, innit?’
Maxie was miffed and it showed.
‘What you fucking telling me for after you made arrangements, Patrick? This is always happening lately. What you want me in for if you gonna run it all yourself ? Fucking . . .’
He slammed his fork on to the plate and it made a loud scraping noise. Maxie was clearly upset.
‘I am sick of this, Patrick. We been partners all these years and now you treat me like a fucking boy. Like I am your boy. People are noticing as well, man. Even Yvonne say she notice it.’
Patrick sighed.
‘Fuck Yvonne. She is a loud-mouthed, white-haired cunt, and if you listen to her no wonder you in a state with yourself. I told you before, your ambition white bird then get the ones that toe the fucking line. She don’t want to get in my face, you tell her that, or I’ll blast her off the face of the earth.’
‘You are dissing me, Pat, and you know it. You got no respect for me or mine. Yvonne is my wife and I love her. She looks out for me and my kids and that is a result as far as I am concerned. I take the flak. If I get banged up she will be waiting for me no matter how long I get. You can’t say that about anyone, let alone your women. Of course she want me out of this now. We got the money, we got the lifestyle, we can get along without bringing in all sorts of new faces and eventually the filth. We have had a good long run, let’s not push it, eh?’
Patrick stared at his friend long and hard. They had been mates since schooldays and though they largely kept out of each other’s private life these days Maxie was still the oldest friend he had. But he was also becoming a liability. Businesses had to expand to survive, Patrick knew that. He had legitimate businesses as well as his illegal ones. His women, his drugs, his clubs. He bought and sold guns, oversaw most of what went on in his manor, and was feared and respected all over the smoke.
He firmly believed if he got enough money he would be immune from the law. A couple of barristers he had used in the past were now judges, and he knew that if he did get a capture he could buy a short sentence. But it was all about extremes, and extreme amounts of money made you untouchable. That and extreme fe
ar. He knew how to instil fear, it came naturally to him.
‘Are you in or out, Maxie? I need to know.’
Maxie shrugged. His huge head with its thick dreadlocks made him look like an African Aslan.
‘I suppose I’m in, whether I want it or not.’
He sounded as if he had been forced into the decision, as he had been. But neither of them mentioned the fact.
‘Eat up and we can grab a quick drink before I drop you home, OK?’
Their business was finished and Maxie knew his friend wouldn’t discuss it any more, no matter what.
That was Pat all over.
He ate.
Amanda Stirling opened the door and her look of surprise told Marie all she needed to know.
‘I discharged meself, I hated it in there. It was like being back in nick.’
‘Oh, my God, come in and sit down.’
Amanda ushered her through to her office and waited till she was seated before she spoke. ‘What’s happened? This is more than the mugging, isn’t it? You look positively haunted.’
Marie looked at the kindly woman before her and felt an overwhelming tiredness. The gin and tonic had knocked her for six and she really wasn’t sure she was up to a long talk about her life at this moment in time.
‘Look, Miss Stirling, I took a beating and I am sore and tired. I just want to sleep. Sleep and sleep and sleep.’
Amanda knew in her heart that something was going on. After all the years she had worked with lifers she could read them like books. They came out to nothing, most of them. Came out into a world that was so changed even buying a newspaper was traumatic. This woman before her had lost everything - her children, her family - everything. Amanda should really inform the police because she was convinced Marie was involved with someone or something detrimental. But she wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. She actually liked her. Didn’t want to see her dragged back to prison. Wanted to see her get on with what was left of her life.