by Martina Cole
‘Wait here and I’ll get it for you.’
In the kitchen she leaned against the worktop and felt the battering of her heart in her chest.
She was finally going to find out what had happened to her daughter, and she wasn’t sure she could cope with the knowledge.
As she let the tap run she put her wrists underneath it to calm her own feeling of nausea. Her baby, her little angel, would have walked away with them like a lamb to the slaughter. That was the worst of it.
Kira would not have had the sense to see any of it for what it was, she would only have seen the smiling faces and the promise of something nice. It would never have occurred to her that anyone would want to hurt her.
Joanie filled the glass with water and went back to the bedroom with it. Bethany looked so pathetic lying there. She placed the glass on the bedside table. Sitting beside her, Joanie gently rubbed her arm and shoulder.
Bethany put up one plump hand and grasped hers.
‘I am sorry, Joanie. Promise you won’t blame me?’
‘I would never blame you, darling, you’re just a little girl. But you have to tell me all you know, OK, so I can decide what to do about it all.’
‘Will you get the police?’
Joanie didn’t answer that. It depended on just what she was told. She had a feeling she might like to exact revenge herself. Her hatred and loathing of Tommy were back in full now. The child wouldn’t say anything about him which could mean only one thing.
As she rubbed the girl’s arm and whispered words of comfort Joanie pictured Little Tommy and his father in their coffins.
Somehow that image was the only thing that made her feel better.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Big John McClellan opened the door to his flat and waved Jon Jon inside. He looked around him in utter amazement. He had never seen anything like this in his life, it was phenomenal.
The whole place was painted white and all there was in the reception room was an imposing stone fireplace and a huge cream leather sofa. On the wall hung one long painting, a fierce spattering of bright colour that Big John informed him was by Jackson Pollock.
‘No guff, son, a real one. Me fucking pension!’
Big John roared with laughter at his own wit.
Jon Jon was impressed despite himself, and as he looked into the open-plan kitchen with its state-of-the-art six-foot-long wine cooler and stainless steel cupboards, he felt overwhelmed. This was the home of someone with wealth, but it was far more than that. It was an almost aggressive display of confidence and power, demanding a proper show of respect from anyone but the man who owned it.
It spoke to something deep within Jon Jon. All his life he’d appreciated the way his mother did her best to make a decent home for them. It was clean, tidy, and she had her best china and glasses and silverware all lovingly stowed away, far too ‘good’ for daily use.
He had never been ashamed of Joanie and the way they lived, not in any way, but he had always known that some people lived differently, in a world that was far removed from their cramped flat on a sink estate. He had always wanted somewhere he could bring anyone, no matter who they were, and see shock and delight on their face at their surroundings, at the way he lived his life, much the same as Big John was enjoying watching him take in this place now. He almost guffawed at the boy’s incredulous expression.
‘This is where I bring me birds, son. Me actual house, where I live with the wife, is grander but it ain’t got the same sophistication, know what I mean? My old woman could blue a rollover week on the Lottery and it would still be all chintz and MFI. You’d need a pair of Ray-Bans just to walk to the downstairs toilet!’
Jon Jon knew exactly what he meant.
‘But my Kathy’s a good girl all the same. Been with her thirty-four years, I have, and we’ve seven sons. Good boys and all except for my youngest.’ Big John wasn’t smiling now. ‘I’m afraid my boy’s fell in with some bad company, including Mad Pippy Light. I’ve tipped him the wink more times than I care to remember. No one else has ever tried my patience to that extent and lived, but Kieron - his whole life’s a bowl of shit.’
He was opening two beers as he spoke and Jon Jon knew he was in for a long night. But even with all that was happening in his quest for Kira’s killer he knew he couldn’t blank Big John, that would have been dangerous and futile. Big John was in confessional mode and it was his job to keep schtumm and listen.
‘I know about your sister, son. Fucking scum of the earth on the streets these days. Can’t trust no cunt, you remember that.’ He took a long swig of his beer. ‘One of me own grand-daughters was nonced, by me daughter-in-law’s dad of all people!’
Jon Jon looked suitably shocked.
‘Fucking hell, what did you do?’
Big John laughed.
‘Let’s just say he ain’t been seen for a long time, and won’t be seen again unless Osama bin-Laden decides to blow up part of the M25.’
He finished his beer in one gulp.
‘Shame that ponce wasn’t in the Reader’s Digest two hundred and fifty thousand pound prize draw. Now they would have found him!’
He laughed at his own wit.
‘But those nonces . . . they’re like a cancer. Kill them, that’s what I say.’ He flipped the top off another beer. ‘It’s the only way with the bastards! You have to wipe them off the face of the earth. They’re a fucking cancer, and the only way to get rid of that is to cut it out once and for all. And if it still kills you, you nuke the bastard, get yourself cremated. Burn the fucker, burn away the disease!’
Jon Jon smiled at the man, wholly understanding his sentiments. Big John opened a cupboard and took out a mother-of-pearl box. It looked beautiful and very valuable.
‘Skin up, son, I’m sure you’re an expert. I am going to go and get this fucking suit off, OK?’
Jon Jon opened the box, resigned to the task of joint-rolling, but what he saw amazed him. It held every kind of puff imaginable and also a hefty quantity of cocaine. It even had a silver kit for cutting and snorting - no rolled-up fivers in this house! There was no denying this man knew how to live, and he was nearer sixty than twenty. That was ancient as far as Jon Jon was concerned, but John McClellan had the money to live like a king and that was all that mattered.
Jon Jon picked up a small vial of cannabis resin and opened it; he breathed in the acrid aroma and sighed. This was something he had only ever heard about, never actually experienced, but he decided on something more mellow for tonight. He was sure the coke would be out too before long so for now he chose a nice grass. He built the joint expertly, taking his time over it. For all his high opinion of himself he found he needed to impress this man.
Jon Jon was amazed to realise that he already liked and respected him. He had heard the stories about him over the years, everyone had. Big John was a legend where they lived and Paulie had been very vocal about him when he’d had a few. But those stories didn’t even scratch the surface where Big John was concerned, Jon Jon was sure of that now.
As he sparked up the joint the man himself walked back into the kitchen, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looking younger and more intimidating somehow. Jon Jon noticed that for all his size he still had some decent muscle on him, strong arms that looked like they had seen some action over the years. He had obviously kept himself in shape as best he could. But youth would out as it always had and always would. He’d told Paulie he needed some young blood in on the Amsterdam job. Were they going to get down to business soon? Only Jon Jon had things he urgently needed to discuss with Paulie.
‘How’s your mother?’ Big John enquired.
Jon Jon sighed and shrugged helplessly.
‘In bits to be honest.’
Big John looked sympathetic.
‘Well, she would be, wouldn’t she? That child was the light of Joanie’s life according to Paulie.’ He coughed and spat phlegm into the kitchen sink. ‘Brasses are like that, I know.’
He saw
the stiffening of Jon Jon’s shoulders and laughed again heartily.
‘It’s all right, son, I do know what I’m on about. My mother was one as well. It’s no secret - though no one would say it to me boatrace these days, of course, for fear of reprisals!’ He sighed heavily then looked out of the kitchen window, ruminating for a few moments on his previous life. The years devoid of money or kudos.
‘My old mum went on the bash when we was kids. Me dad had gone on the trot and she had eight of us to feed. Hard graft, bless her. Loved the bones of that woman, I did. She was worn out before she was fifty. Never saw me old man again until I was doing well, had made a name for meself like. Then he turned up like the poncing leech he was.’ He laughed loudly, only this time it was hollow-sounding.
‘What did you do?’
Big John’s face set like stone.
‘Same as you would if your old man turned up for a hand out: I gave him a grand and told him if I ever saw him again, I’d kill him.’
He took a deep toke on the joint.
‘Never saw hide nor hair of him again, the cunt! I’d have had more respect if he’d thrown it in me face, but he slunk off just like all those times before when I was a kid. Just upped and disappeared like he always had. Left me, the eldest, to bring up me brothers and sisters, see them all right, which I did. Good riddance to bad fucking rubbish, eh?’
Jon Jon nodded sagely. Half stoned and half straight, he felt an embarrassing urge to cry.
‘I never knew my old man,’ he confessed.
Big John handed him the joint.
‘Just as well, son, he’d only have disappointed you. Wankers always do. Now then, what were you talking to Jesmond about today?’
‘What?’
Shock and surprise were evident in Jon Jon’s face and voice. That was the last thing he had expected to be asked.
Big John laughed, cupping one ear to take the sting out of his words as he said matter-of-factly, ‘I hear everything, son. One of the blokes who works for me, works for him. I’ve more grasses than Wimbledon Centre Court. It keeps the opposition in its place - bit like Tony Blair, only I don’t sell them down the river when it all falls out of bed. They don’t have to top themselves either, I make a point of doing that for them.’
He grinned, and Jon Jon remembered reading somewhere about tombstone teeth. He could see what that meant now.
‘I’ve had Ginger . . . you know, his number one, otherwise known as Manky Foot? He’s a raspberry ripple, but he can have a row . . . anyway, I’ve had him on my payroll for a couple of years. He told me that you and Bernard were after a straightener with his boss.’
He toked on the joint once more and said in his best Jeremy Paxman piss-taking voice, ‘So, Sonny Jim, or Sonny Jon Jon if you prefer, I am going to cut us a couple of lines of this very expensive and might I say rather excellent Colombian marching gear while you tell me everything I need to know.’
He grinned.
‘And you will tell me, son, understand that much.’
It was a threat and they both knew it, but a carefully judged one. It was up to Jon Jon whether or not to take umbrage. Which of course he wouldn’t, he wasn’t that stupid.
He was just amazed at the way his day had turned out.
‘When Paulie said to come here, I thought we had a new deal going down. I mean, that’s why you went to see him, after all.’
Big John studied Jon Jon’s face as he absorbed all that was being said to him. He was quick and he had savvy. Give the boy a few years and he would be a force to be reckoned with. He was also loyal, a must have in Big John’s organisation.
He decided to be honest. Or at least as honest as he could be until he knew this boy was on board.
‘Listen, son, I went to see Paulie today because I wanted an in to you. The Amsterdam deal may or may not occur - I’ve got higher priorities right now. You going after Jesmond today done my head in, took me by surprise like. Maybe a few years from now I might have expected it as the natural course of events. Someone was going to take what he had one day and it might as well be you. You’ve already got a good rep, I’ll give you that much. But at this moment in time you’re still a babe-in-arms. I deduced that you had to have a personal reason for going up against him. And, me being me, I want to know what that reason is.’
He opened the box carefully and respectfully as befitted a decent bit of gear, at the same time pointing one finger at Jon Jon.
‘There’s stuff you don’t know yet. I’ll rephrase that, can’t know yet. But you will if I hear what I want to hear.’
Jon Jon watched as he cut two lines expertly and with the minimum of fuss. That much in itself was different. Most people talked about how good their gear was when they iced it out, bragged about the quality, how good it was. But Big John imported his own and no one in their right mind would question its quality. This was an education and Jon Jon was determined to take in every lesson he could from the evening’s entertainment.
But he was still wary of saying too much, too soon. He decided to change the subject while he thought out what to do.
‘How do you know my mum?’
Big John grinned.
‘I remember her from years gone by. Nice woman, Joanie. No one ever had a bad word to say about her, and why would they? She’s sound, done a few favours for friends over the years. Time was, when my old woman wouldn’t shit till your mother had done her Tarot cards! When I was banged up they were a lifeline to Kathy. She loves your mum.’
It was good heart-warming stuff but Jon Jon wasn’t fooled.
‘What kind of favours did she do for friends?’
He had taken the main point and this made Big John smile. He genuinely liked this kid. For all his dreadlocks and his Kiss 100 clothes he was a shrewd little fucker, and John McClellan liked shrewd little fuckers - they made you money.
‘Never you mind, you ask her yourself. But Paulie always had a soft spot for her, I know. Wouldn’t admit it, of course. Him with a brass! But I tell you something, she was worth fifty of that fat whore he married. Wouldn’t get an honourable mention at Cruft’s, her!’
Jon Jon didn’t dispute what the man was saying. He snorted a line quickly, and felt the rush almost immediately.
‘This stuff will keep you up longer than an Irish marching band!’ Big John was laughing again. ‘So come on, what have you found out?’
Jon Jon looked at him and wondered if this was a set-up. He decided to tell it in as ambiguous a way as possible. Feel it out as he went along.
‘Well, you see . . .’
‘Just call me John, son.’
He’d guessed rightly that Jon Jon didn’t know how to address him.
‘It’s complicated.’
Big John smiled and this time it didn’t reach his eyes.
‘Life’s complicated, son. Surely your sister’s disappearance proved that. By the way, I heard about Joanie trying to give that nonce an acid bath.’
‘You seem to hear everything, John.’
Big John looked at him for a moment. He was obviously choosing his words carefully.
Then he said, ‘Let’s see if we’re singing from the same hymn sheet here. I’ve heard a few rumours about Jesmond and Paulie and Pippy Light. Not exactly Brain of Britain is Pippy Light. When everyone else went into computers he bought his first abacus, but I digress. It’s Paulie Martin I’m really interested in. I hear through the grapevine that he makes money off of little kids and I think you can enlighten me further about that.’
He paused before continuing, ‘At least, I hope so. Jesmond would sell his own mother for a few beers. Pieces of shit like him can’t help it, but at least he never pretended to be anything else, do you get my drift?’ He sniffed loudly to make his point but also to bring the coke as far up his nose as possible.
‘Now Paulie, he’s a different kettle of fish altogether. You see, he acts like butter wouldn’t melt. But you know Paulie’s trouble, don’t you?’
‘No, I don’t. Exac
tly what is his trouble?’
Jon Jon knew he was chancing his arm. Animosity was coming off Big John in waves now and when all was said and done Jon Jon worked for Paulie Martin. They were friends. But for all that Jon Jon was getting seriously antsy about the number of times he was hearing about his boss today, and from some very unexpected quarters.
‘Paulie’s problem, son, is he has never done a lump in his life, and I am very wary of anyone who’s been going as long as him and never had so much as a night in the cells. Do you see where I’m coming from?’
Jon Jon could see all right, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was strange the way Paulie had never had his collar felt. Luck of the devil, he always said. But maybe not.