Broken

by Martina Cole

  ‘Where are they to go?’

  The other man shrugged.

  ‘I thought I’d put them in flats with established pros. They’ll soon learn the ropes - they ain’t stupid. I promised them they would pay off all they owe in two years. That gives them a goal, like. I tell them all sorts to get them working. But after a few years they’re no good any more anyway. They lose that fresh look, start looking like whores if you know what I mean.’

  Boris nodded. ‘You have done well, Geoff. Where are the others going in Paddington?’

  ‘Plain flats - you know, the cheaper end of the market - and a few will be taxied around the smoke, like. Bit ropey, as I said, but all right for what we want. A couple can go in the parlours. Beverley will train them up for a drink. So we didn’t get a bad batch really. I’ve had better, and I’ve had worse, to be honest.’

  The girls were watching the men dull-eyed. They knew what was being said even if they couldn’t understand the language. Boris stared at them all again and they dropped their eyes under his penetrating gaze.

  ‘Send the little one over and I’ll speak to you in the week, OK?’

  ‘Fair enough. Before I forget, did Sergei tell you about Julie?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She had full-blown AIDS. One of the guys disposed of her Saturday. Her body won’t be found - she was crushed in a breaker’s in North London. He shoved her in the boot of a car. But we need someone to take over the parlour in Canning Town. I thought we could give the job to Amanda. She’s pretty bright and already running the place.’

  ‘Was Julie still working?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, she didn’t really look ill for ages. Then she started to look right fucking rough. I hate to think of the number of men she gave it to. But, as she said, if they wanted it with her, they had to take her as she was. Always had a sense of humour, right up to the end. But we had to nut her, she knew too much. Took it well by all accounts. I reckon she was probably glad to go, don’t you?’

  Boris shrugged, bored by the conversation. ‘Bring me the girl later.’

  He was humming as he got back into his car. A young girl walked past. She had long brown hair and a wiggle in her walk. He watched her in the wing mirror and smiled. He liked the young girls in England. They had a confidence about them that was attractive. He knew they all had an eye to the main chance and that intrigued him. Money was power in this country. Most people were willing to do literally anything to get it.

  It amazed him.

  He knew the girl had looked at him and toyed with the idea of driving after her and talking to her. But he couldn’t be bothered. There were plenty more like her around if you knew where to look.

  Jimmy Pierce was scared. He knew that Jacky Gunner and Joey Partridge were on the missing list and daren’t tell Boris who would go ballistic.

  He sipped at his Scotch, trying to make it last. He knew he should not be drinking but was so terrified he needed something to ease his nerves.

  His wife looked at him through the serving hatch from the kitchen. She knew that something was wrong but couldn’t get a word out of him.

  ‘Have another, mate. Keep drinking,’ she said sarcastically.

  ‘Shut up, Shirl, you’re getting on me tits.’

  ‘Ooh, pardon me for breathing.’

  Her sarcasm was lost on him as he drank and worried.

  ‘Me mother’s coming later. I hope you bleeding well cheer up before she arrives. You know what she’s like - suss out anything her, and keep at you till you tell her everything she wants to know. Missed her vocation she did. Should have been Old Bill.’

  When he didn’t answer her with his usual disgusting comments about her mother she knew that it was serious. She walked through to the dining room where he sat at the table steadily drinking.

  ‘Come on, Jim, what’s the score? Should I be worried for the kids?’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘I’ve fucked up, Shirl. Big time.’

  She sighed, looked down on to the balding head of her husband and said gently, ‘What you done, mate? Tell me and we’ll see if we can come up with something. Have you been gambling again?’

  He tossed back his drink. ‘Oh, that’s you all over, ain’t it, Shirl? Fucking blame me.’

  She closed her eyes and said through her teeth, ‘Well, unless you spill your bleeding guts, Jim, I can only assume that’s it, can’t I?’

  ‘Where are the kids?’

  ‘They’re all out - why? Here, have you got another bird pregnant again? Only if you have I’ll fucking have you spayed, Jimmy, I mean it. You can go in the vet’s with the bleeding cat.’

  He pushed her hard in the chest, nearly knocking her to the floor. ‘No, Shirl, it ain’t nothing like that. This is serious hag.’

  ‘Any more little whores on my doorstep and I’ll show you what serious hag really is, mate. Our Sharon was disgusted last time.’

  ‘Fuck Sharon.’ He was quiet for a second, then grabbing his wife’s hand he pulled her through the house and outside to the garage. Inside he locked the door and said to her gently, ‘Don’t scream - all right?’

  She nodded reluctantly. Her skin was crawling and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what was going on now. He opened the boot of his car and gestured for her to look inside.

  Shirley walked cautiously around the black Mercedes, the hairs beginning to stand up on her neck and arms. She looked into the boot and as she opened her mouth to scream her husband put one large meaty hand across her mouth.

  ‘It’s Tommy Broughton, dead and in the boot of my car, and I don’t know how long he’s been there but by the smell he’s been dead a few days. Gunner and Partridge were at a safe house in Rettenden and they’ve gone on the missing list somehow. Boris the Russian is going to torture me and laugh while he does it if I can’t tell him where everyone is once he realises they’ve gone. That is what is wrong with me, Shirl. Now, what dazzling ideas can you come up with this time to get me out of the shit?’

  She knocked his hand away with all the strength she could muster.

  ‘You ungrateful bastard! You bring home a dead body and expect me to take this kind of shit as usual. Well, boy, you take Tommy and you get rid of him. I don’t want him near my children. Then I’ll tell you what to do next, shall I? You, Jim, can fuck off out of it until you have sorted everything out. And if I don’t see you ever again, quite frankly after this little lot it will be too soon.’

  He pulled her into his arms. ‘Oh, don’t be like that, Shirl, I’ve got a lot on me mind.’

  She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and for the millionth time wondered what the hell she had ever seen in this man she had married.

  ‘You drive the car to Binky’s yard for me. I’ll follow on in a cab, OK?’

  She blinked her eyes at him. ‘Why have I got to drive there?’

  ‘ ’Cos the Old Bill don’t hassle you, do they, love? I’ll have to get it trashed and then report it stolen, like. That way at least we get the insurance.’

  ‘Who do you think killed poor old Tommy?’ Her eyes were once more drawn to the body in the boot. ‘It wasn’t you, Jimmy, was it? Promise me?’

  ‘Why would I kill Tommy? I was doing a fucking right saucy scam with him, woman. Use your bleeding loaf. Kelly’s topped him, ain’t he? He’d obviously found out what was going on.’

  ‘But Kelly’s in hospital - he was shot.’

  Jimmy rolled his eyes. ‘Well, smell Tommy. He’s as high as a kite, love. Been dead ages. Look at him, for fuck’s sake. He’s green. Look, he’s even got mould on his boat.’

  ‘No, thank you. I will take your word for it. Now shut the boot up, it’s horrible.’

  He slammed it shut.

  ‘Well, will you drive over to Binky’s or not?’ he demanded.

  She nodded. ‘ ’Course I will, but you owe me one for this, you fucker.’

  He hugged her. ‘You are a good old sort, Shirl. Salt of the earth you are.’

  She frowned. ‘Not s
o much of the fucking old, if you don’t mind.’

  They smiled at one another, on the same wave-length as usual.

  ‘Here, wait till Sharon gets in, I have to drop her at East Ham anyway, she’s going round her bloke’s. I can drop her and Tommy off at the same time, eh?’

  Her husband smiled. ‘Fair enough. Now all I have to do is try and locate the other two and I’m back in the ball game.’

  ‘See, Jim? A trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

  ‘We’ll see, girl, we’ll see.’

  Binky looked at the Merc and tutted. He hated having to trash the nice motors, so if possible he didn’t - though he never told the original owners that.

  After waving off Shirley Pierce he had looked the car over properly. It was a beauty. He had then made a few calls and a potential buyer was standing beside him at this very minute.

  ‘What do you reckon then?’ Binky asked.

  ‘Nice motor, good mileage. I could ring it in a few days. How much you looking at for it? And more to the point, who owned it?’

  Binky grinned, his little eyes almost disappearing into his fleshy face.

  ‘You’re getting a right nosy fucker, Simon, and no mistake. What does it matter who owned it?’

  Simon shrugged his skinny shoulders. At nineteen he was at the top of his profession and he knew it. He could take a prestige car from anywhere in under a minute. No alarms could beat him, he was a natural born car thief. And unlike most boys his age he made a point of making money, serious money, out of his talent.

  ‘I like to know its previous in case it ends up going back to them. I had a case like that before and it caused untold hag, mate. Whoever wanted this crushed had a reason, and I want to know what the reason was.’

  He was serious now and the fat car dealer sighed noisily.

  ‘A mate wanted it crushed for the insurance. As long as the bleeding thing disappears he’s happy. You’ll have to break in, though. He took the keys.’

  The youth sniggered. ‘He’d got your number, then. Didn’t trust you, did he?’

  Binky laughed but didn’t answer. In fact, Shirley had told him that if the car didn’t disappear tonight, he would in its place. But he wasn’t too bothered by threats like that. Once Simon had it, it was as good as crushed. It would end up abroad more than likely. It was, after all, a brand new motor.

  ‘Let me have a butcher’s inside then.’

  He popped the locks in twenty-five seconds. Binky was well impressed.

  ‘You are good, Si, I can’t take that away from you.’

  The boy grinned. ‘It’s a knack, mate.’

  He opened the door and looked over the interior.

  ‘Nice bit of leather but it don’t half stink, Binky. What have they done with it?’

  The fat man shrugged, making his enormous belly wobble. ‘Fuck knows.’

  The boy walked round and opened the boot. The stench became heavier and they both looked down at the decaying body.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Binky! Whoever wanted this crushed had good bastard reason, didn’t they? Why didn’t you check the motor over yourself?’ Simon was holding a handkerchief to his mouth. ‘This is gross.’

  Binky stared down at his old mate Tommy Broughton and sighed heavily. ‘I can easily shove him in one of the wrecks and get shot. But do you still want the car, Si?’

  He shook his head. ‘Do I fuck. Who is it anyway?’

  Binky held up his hands. ‘How should I know?’ He slammed the boot and spat into the dirt, hawking deep in his throat. ‘Ugh! Fucking stinks.’

  Simon walked away from the car and opened his coat, flapping it as if to dispel the stench.

  ‘Forget it, Binky. I ain’t into all that.’

  ‘Fair enough, I’ll shunt it later, when it’s dark. See you then, mate.’

  Simon waved as he drove out of the yard at speed. Binky went into the shed that passed for his office. It was full of girlie photos and empty lager cans.

  He lit a small cigar and puffed on it to take away the foul taste in his mouth. Then, picking up his mobile, he dialled a number.

  ‘Hello, Benny mate, Binky here. I think I might have something of interest to you. Can you nip down to me yard?’

  He was going to make a few quid off this fucking car if it killed him. Plus, Tommy Broughton had been a mate. Whoever topped him had better have had a good reason.

  Binky planned to find out what that reason was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘It was Tommy Broughton all right. And from what I’ve heard it was Patrick who killed him.’ Kate listened to Benjamin with half an ear. She had already guessed that Pat was behind the killing. It fitted somehow with what she had already pieced together.

  ‘I got Binky to crush him while I was there. The car belonged to Jimmy Pierce, the slag. He was working with Tommy on the tuck-up so he must be a worried man. He’s lost two mates and found a third, all in twenty-four hours.’ Boarder chuckled richly. ‘Teach him to play with the big boys, won’t it?’

  Kate felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. She knew Patrick was capable of murder, she had always known that. But now she was implicated too. She knew who had disposed of the body and how it had been disposed of. She also knew why.

  She was an accessory after the fact.

  Her stomach revolted against what she was doing, yet she knew she would carry on with it all. She had to, for Patrick’s sake. Tiredly, she rubbed at her eyes.

  Benjamin quietened. He had forgotten that she wasn’t one of them. That she was a Filth. He had assumed that as she had taken on Patrick’s mantle she would automatically take the heat that went with it.

  He studied her closely. ‘You OK?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Listen, Kate, Patrick would have had good reason to do what he did, remember that.’

  ‘I’ll remember. So Tommy’s gone then?’

  ‘No one will see him again,’ Benjamin promised. ‘Patrick must have dumped him in Pierce’s motor to teach him a lesson. Good idea really. I mean, if you want to make a point there ain’t many better ways I can think of.’

  ‘How are the other two faring?’

  ‘They’re in complete terror,’ Benjamin grinned. ‘Little Colin knows the score. He’s keeping them on their toes nicely. We should have a result in no time. Boris is going to look for them, ain’t he? Stands to reason. All we have to do is wait until he puts his face about then we can pounce.’

  ‘Aren’t you frightened of him? Everyone else is.’

  The large man shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The Russians don’t scare me. They’re just cowboys who think that London is another gold rush. Fuck them. We can work with them or without them. We know our job. Nah, they don’t scare me, Kate, and they never scared Patrick.’

  ‘From what I understand, this Boris is a psychopath.’

  ‘Listen, they say that about me and Patrick, but we ain’t,’ Benjamin explained. ‘It’s just a front we put on that gives us a bit of clout with other faces. It’s good business, that’s all. If people think you’re a head case you get quicker results and get served first in certain pubs. End of story.’

  Kate didn’t answer him.

  ‘Come on, let me buy you some lunch, eh? You look like you could do with a stiff drink.’

  She smiled gratefully and followed him to his car. They were both unaware that they were being observed.

  Natasha Linten was in the Wheatsheaf and she was drunk. Seriously drunk. As she poured yet another large Bacardi down her throat she felt an urge to vomit. Taking deep breaths, she steadied herself against the bar.

  ‘Sit yourself down, love, before you fall down.’

  The landlady, Marlene, was kind but wary. She knew that Tash could turn on a coin. Like most of the girls and women who frequented the pub, she was known locally as a dog and Tash certainly lived up to her namesake, from her poodle-like hairdo, long, streaked and scraped up on to the top of her head, to her baggy-kneed leggings and tight Lycra top. The ensem
ble was finished with a leather coat that had obviously seen better days.

  She stumbled to a nearby table and sat down. The three men already sitting there started to move away from her, deliberately excluding her from their company and conversation. Tash was not so drunk she didn’t pick up on the vibes all around her. She looked into the nearest man’s face.

  ‘All right, Billy?’ Her voice was aggressive.

  ‘Go home, Tash, you’re pissed,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Go home to your kids.’

  ‘Ain’t got me kids. Been took away. Rotten bastards.’ Her voice was full of self-pity.

  ‘Not before fucking time either, you slag.’ Billy’s son David spoke loudly as if she was deaf and might not understand him.

  She tried to focus her eyes on him. ‘Bollocks to you, mate. I loved my kids, they was me life.’ She really believed this in her drunken state.

  ‘Your poor kids are probably having the first decent day of their lives, Tash. Fuck me, you are in a state. Go on, piss off somewhere else.’

  Oblivious to him, she took a crumpled pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her coat and lit one up. Drawing the smoke into her lungs, she gave an almighty cough and wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her coat.

  The men looked at her in disgust.

  ‘I got nothing left now. Lost me kids, me bloke . . .’ She was on the verge of tears. ‘Even lost me few quid, I have. Fucking social workers, why don’t they go and look after the really neglected kids? Why pick on mine?’

  David finished his beer and stood up. ‘Another round?’

  The men nodded.

  ‘Mine’s a Bacardi, thanks.’

  David stuck his face close to Tash’s. ‘You’ll get fuck all. Now piss off, you scummy whore.’

  She looked up into his face and sighed. ‘Fuck off, wanker. I don’t need you lot to tell me what I am. I know what I am, mate, and I like being what I am. So bollocks to you.’