The Know

by Martina Cole

  But Jon Jon was only eighteen, he still had plenty of time. At school he had been told he was naturally bright, academic even. Could be anything he wanted to be. All this from people who had never had to live under his cloud, never had to eat lunch while being taunted by older boys because their mother was on the game. It was what made him into a fighter; he had learned to protect himself, and at the same time he was protecting his mother.

  He had loved her then, and he still loved her now. Whatever she was, she was worth a hundred of anyone else he had ever known. She was decent in the only way that mattered. She was honest, loyal and true, and he had to believe in her because at the end of the day she was all he had ever had. Whatever she had done, she had done for the right reasons.

  He repeated it to himself like a mantra.

  He was clenching his fists again, natural animosity fighting his self-imposed cool, and he forced himself to calm down.

  The truth would out, he had to believe that.

  At the end of the day this could all be worth shit, mere supposition. But whatever happened he would have broken a nonce so it was worth it.

  It was a little bit of payback.

  But today Jon Jon was seeing his life, and the business he worked in, with stunning clarity for the first time ever. In a way his mother had not had any choice. Going on the game was all she could do, all she was geared up for. It had become her life too early for her to change. But he had chosen this life for himself, knowing the downside because he had had to live with it all his born days.

  It was how he had been described, all his life, by everyone he knew. He could still hear them: ‘You know Jon Jon Brewer? His mum’s on the bash/on the game/a sort.’ He had got used to it, but still it rankled, hurt him. It had led him into all this and now he wanted out, but first he wanted to see Jesmond crawl.

  He was just glad Bernard had stayed around because Jesmond was far more scared of him than he was of Jon Jon.

  Anyone in their right mind would be scared of Bernard, the collector who had burned a house down for a poxy seventy-five quid debt. It wasn’t the money, he had said at the time, it was the principle. The debtor had fucked him off, and no one fucked off Bernard Lee. He almost roasted a whole family alive. They had only been saved by an expensive smoke alarm and the fact that the debtor’s wife suffered from insomnia. That was probably due to their money problems. Debt had a habit of chasing sleep away. Your wife could leave you, your parents die, but it was debt that had the edge when it came to keeping you up at night. Debt was a great leveller because it never went away. It was there, taunting you, twenty-four seven.

  But Bernard didn’t care about that. He got his money and that was all that bothered him. If he would do that for seventy-five quid, what would he be capable of doing to a nonce?

  Jon Jon guessed the same thoughts were going through Jesmond’s head and that was why he was playing for time.

  ‘Come on, we ain’t got all fucking day.’

  Bernard’s voice was tight with annoyance. Jesmond tried to blank him. He needed to think and inwardly he was panicking now. As he licked the Rizla Bernard’s fist landed a hefty blow on his right ear.

  ‘Are you fucking winding me up or what? I’ve been served in a Harvester quicker than this! Now you were asked a question and you had better fucking start answering it.’

  Bernard was sweating, his anger rising to dangerous levels. The thought that he might actually be linked to a beast was too much for him to bear.

  Bernard Lee, the collector who was a by-word for cool, controlled retribution, was suddenly impatient for answers.

  Jesmond was stunned, not just by the blow but by fear. If this ever got out, he was finished. And that was if he could finesse his way out of trouble with Bernard. Money could go a long way there but first he had to swallow his knob, as the saying went, and open his trap. It was the only way out now.

  He was sweating, and to make matters worse he could smell himself. Never before had he felt this kind of fear.

  ‘It started a few years ago . . .’

  He took a deep toke on the joint for comfort.

  The smoke hit Jon Jon and he wanted to smile. That big powerhouse Jesmond smoked scuff? Somehow this fact took the edge off what was happening. A woman’s puff. A bland puff. It was a throwback from the seventies and Amsterdam. It wasn’t even a nice bit of Lebanese or Acapulco Gold. Somehow this knowledge made him feel better.

  ‘What started a few years ago?’

  Bernard’s voice was lower than Jesmond’s and Jon Jon brought his chair nearer to take it all in. He knew he was better off letting Bernard do the talking.

  Jesmond was holding on to his dreads with one hand, pulling at them nervously.

  ‘I was approached a while back by a Rumanian geezer. Some bloke who had girls for sale.’

  He was almost stuttering with nerves.

  ‘Well, actually, that’s not strictly true, I was approached through one of my debtors. He had paid in full and was doing well - too well, in fact. He asked me about taking some of the girls on.’

  He looked at Jon Jon, trying to justify himself and his actions.

  ‘They work all day for nix. I own their passports and make them work off the money they owe for being brought into this country. Most of them couldn’t even exist without me, you know. They need me.’

  Bernard laughed.

  ‘Big-hearted Harry now, is it? You cunt! Those girls are syphed up to the eyebrows, everyone knows that, and that’s not counting the ones with HIV and AIDS.’

  ‘Not all of them . . .’

  ‘Oh, fuck off! They’re bad news, everyone knows it. The only thing they ain’t fucking picked up is manners or English.’

  Bernard was disgusted and it showed.

  ‘Anyway, where are they?’

  Jesmond took a deep breath. The dope had made him paranoid. He could hear his own heartbeat.

  ‘In and around London mostly, in houses I own.’ He sighed now as if he was bored. ‘It’s easy money, easiest I’ve ever earned. A fucking fortune.’

  Against his better judgement Bernard was intrigued and a little bit impressed as well. He loved easy money.

  ‘What do you mean, a fortune?’

  Jesmond smiled, his gold teeth glinting in the fluorescent light. Glad to change the subject.

  ‘Sixty grand a week.’

  He was bragging now, it was his nature. He was a natural show off.

  ‘And you kept it all to yourself, did you?’

  Bernard’s animosity was evident to the other two.

  ‘Come on, man, I didn’t have much choice . . .’

  ‘You never even offered me a drink out of it! How fucking disrespectful is that?’ Bernard was shaking his head reprovingly. ‘Well, we both know where we stand now, don’t we? You greedy black cunt!’

  Jon Jon stood up. He had heard enough.

  ‘I hate to piss on your fireworks but where exactly do kids come into all this?’

  They both looked at Jon Jon as he spoke. He was trying to set them back on track. Jesmond felt like he had a lump of concrete lodged in his chest, so great was his fear. He also knew that once he opened up about this terrible thing, it would change all their worlds completely.

  Guilt had not exactly been weighing on him so far but he knew he had to convince them otherwise. If he had had any inkling that he was in for a capture he would have had it away on his toes long before these two collared him. Now all he could do was save his own arse and tell them what they wanted to hear, making himself out to be merely an innocent bystander.

  ‘The kids were part of the deal, see . . .’

  ‘What are you talking about - kids? You telling me you got kids locked away somewhere?’ Bernard exploded. There was disgust in his voice, in his stance even. He was itching for a fight.

  ‘The kids ain’t here! They used to be but now they end up abroad . . .’

  Jesmond sighed.

  ‘It’s a long story. First I need a drink.’
r />   Bernard nodded at Jon Jon.

  ‘We all want a drink. Get a bottle down here, son, I think we’re going to need it.’

  Jon Jon nodded and left the room. Jesmond’s minders were outside and they looked nervous. He smiled at them.

  ‘A bottle of Scotch and a bottle of brandy. Now.’

  Jesmond’s number one, a large ginger-headed man with enormous biceps and a twisted foot, forced a grin.

  ‘All right in there? What’s the score?’

  Jon Jon opened his arms wide.

  ‘What are you then? The Martin Bashir of fucking South London? You want to ask questions, change your name to Chris fucking Tarrant. You wanna go and get the drink then move your fucking white arse out of it, if you know what’s good for you.’

  Jon Jon wanted a row and this man would do to vent his anger on. He looked at his cronies, sensing the pent-up fury in the young blood before him. Something was going down here, and he had a feeling it was going to cut them all deeply when it came on top. He decided to be friendly but firm. Who knew what the next few weeks could bring? He could be working for Paulie’s man before the month was out. He knew the score better than anyone. In their game people came and went. He had a feeling that Jesmond was about to go.

  ‘Keep your fucking hair on!’

  Jon Jon grinned sarcastically.

  ‘Don’t you worry, I will. Now get a move on, we ain’t got all night.’

  He wanted to laugh. Whatever came out of this it was going to benefit him, he knew that as well as he knew his own name. He could take Jesmond’s girls over if he wanted. Relocate them and bank the profits.

  Then he brought himself up short.

  This was supposed to be about his little sister and yet he was seeing an angle in it for himself? He had actually forgotten about Kira for a few minutes. How could he have done that?

  He was Paulie’s brown-eyed boy all right and this knowledge was starting to scare him.

  He had seen an angle for himself when he should have seen nothing but a beast.

  Monika opened the door to Joanie and smiled to see her. She had missed her friend so much, and the fact that no one else had given her the time of day since they had fallen out had not helped. She had been blanked well and truly, by friends and neighbours alike.

  Joanie was liked, always had been. Without her Monika couldn’t keep anyone in her corner. With her she had friends, she had kudos, and she had somewhere to go anytime, day or night. She had missed her daily meander to her friend’s flat, missed all Joanie’s little kindnesses, missed her friendship. Especially now she had spent all the money from the newspaper.

  ‘Come in, Joanie love.’

  Joanie hugged her.

  ‘You’re a star, Monika. You came across for me, what can I say?’

  She felt like crying.

  Monika shrugged.

  ‘You’re me mate, me only mate in fact. I’m sorry for all the shit, Joanie.’

  She smiled.

  ‘Look, Mon, you came through for me and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘And what about Lazy Caroline! Can you believe that? The last favour she ever done anyone was when she stopped wearing mini-skirts! Her fucking legs! Like tree trunks . . .’

  Joanie was laughing now, really laughing for the first time in ages. It felt good being here again. Monika was a comic, she made Joanie forget her troubles and that meant the world to her at the moment.

  Whatever else Monika was, she was funny.

  They went into the lounge and Monika poured them both a drink.

  ‘How’s Bethany?’ Joanie enquired.

  Monika smiled tightly.

  ‘Let’s not start rowing already!’

  She grinned then, giving her friend the benefit of the doubt. They had always argued over the kids. Monika was determined to make a joke of it.

  ‘She’s OK, Joanie. Still a pain in the arse.’

  ‘No change there then?’

  They were back on their old footing. Neither of them knew how long it would last so they were enjoying it while they could. They would be arguing again before the week was out but for the moment they were sound.

  ‘Where is she anyway?’

  Joanie was genuinely interested in the answer. Her kids were always expected to tell her where they were. Monika, on the other hand, never even asked.

  ‘Who knows, Joanie? Since little Kira went missing she hasn’t been the same.’

  For once Monika sounded perturbed, interested in her daughter’s thoughts and feelings.

  ‘They were close, Mon. I loved seeing them together. Kira loved her and she loved Kira.’

  It was the first time Joanie had talked about her daughter without crying. Without picturing her face and seeing her terror as she had died. That was the worst, the not knowing what she had experienced before her death, because she was dead, Joanie knew that as well as she knew her own name. If Kira was alive still she would have known. Would have felt it.

  Monika felt the tension and said loudly, ‘Who’d have thought Baxter would have come up trumps, eh? Miserable old cunt he is normally!’

  Joanie laughed with her.

  ‘He didn’t have much choice, did he? Paulie saw to that.’

  Monika sat on the dirty sofa beside her friend and grabbed her in a warm bear hug. ‘I’m glad it’s all getting back to normal, Joanie. I was really worried about you, girl.’

  Joanie could smell her friend’s stale sweat, and the peculiar odour of fast food that always emanated from Monika. But today she was glad of it; it was familiar and anything familiar was welcome. In her own way she had missed sparring with Monika. Even though she could be the most selfish, obnoxious individual, she could also on occasion be generous and kind-hearted.

  Not often, admittedly, but it had been known.

  Monika could also be a good listener and that was what Joanie needed at the moment: someone to pour her heart out to.

  ‘How much did you get from the papers, Mon?’

  Monika stopped smiling and her face fell back into its usual sullen lines.

  ‘Not a lot, but enough to make life a bit easier.’

  Joanie grinned.

  ‘I should hope so and all!’

  Monika grinned again, her moon face filled with relief. The subject had been broached and it was all right, she had been forgiven, though she had always known deep down that if anyone really understood her it was Joanie.

  ‘I got a few quid left if you want it? I’ll pay your cab back to Sheffield if you like.’

  They both roared at that.

  ‘Even Baxter was impressed, Joanie, you could tell.’

  She poured herself another drink. ‘I must be drinking more than I realise, this bottle didn’t seem so empty last night!’ Monika laughed again. ‘It’s strange but it’s like you and me never fell out, ain’t it? I’m glad you’re back, you know that, don’t you, Joanie?’

  She nodded sadly.

  ‘’Course I do, mate. I feel the same.’

  ‘I would have come with you to Sheffield if you’d asked.’

  ‘I know, Mon.’

  ‘I bet it felt good, didn’t it?’

  Joanie smiled and nodded, unwilling to say how she had really felt because she knew Monika wouldn’t understand.

  She didn’t understand it herself.

  She was saved from answering by Bethany’s arrival. Joanie remembered that she had sorted through some of the Barbie stuff in Kira’s bedroom and had decided to give some of it to Bethany. She didn’t get a lot in the toy line and Kira would have wanted Bethany to have it, she was sure of that. Though whether Bethany would want it was a different matter.

  ‘Just the girl I wanted to see.’

  The child went white.

  ‘What do you want to see me about, Auntie Joanie? I don’t know nothing, I swear.’

  She was terrified. Joanie and Monika stared at one another until Monika shrugged as if to say, What’s going on here?

  ‘Who you talking to, yo
u little bastard!’

  Here she was, finally back on track with Joanie, and then this miserable little mare had to come in and ruin it! Monika was fuming.

  ‘Don’t call her that. Come here, Bethany love.’

  Joanie put her arms out as if to hug her, something Bethany had always liked because hugs were few and far between from Monika. But she stayed where she was, almost rooted to the spot.