Reprisal (The Cardigan Estate Book 2)

by Emmy Ellis

  In the living room, she sat on the sofa and rang George.

  “What’s up?” he asked. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

  The sound of grinding went off in the background. Sarah didn’t want to know what was going on, although she could guess. Someone was probably being chopped up.

  “Stop that a second,” he shouted.

  The noise silenced.

  She told him what had gone on at the shop, shaking as much as Simon had now.

  “That fucking bastard,” George said, voice low. “Right, I’ll nip to see Simon tomorrow, assure him Lime won’t be coming back.”

  “Are you going to sort him for real then?” Sarah didn’t dare pin all her hopes on it—no Lime and Dave around was too much to expect. “He needs dealing with—and that Dave.” And then my secret will die with them.

  “Yep. Don’t you worry about them. They’ll be toast before you know it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The woman on the corner had given Sarah her name after a few nights. Well, the one she wanted Sarah to know anyway. Princess, although she’d joked she was more like a queen now, older and wiser having reigned the corner for years. They chatted about the pitfalls of the job, and Princess warned her what some men were like, the dodgy ones, the nice ones, and those who were weird and didn’t talk, just ‘did it’ and left you feeling like shit on their shoe.

  Sarah had got used to their ways over the past months, and when she went with them, she felt wanted, needed for the speck of time they were together. Growing up, she’d always seemed surplus to requirements, the child her parents didn’t want.

  She wasn’t a son so was tolerated. Her clothes were for boys—no skirts and pretty dresses, or a frilly blouse or two. Jeans, T-shirts, trainers. At night, on the corner, she chose short-short skirts and skimpy tops, overly feminine things.

  Funny how that was a reason to give herself to strangers: Look at me, see me. I’m a girl not a boy. Love me for who I am, not what I’m not. Love me even though I’m a sex worker, not what society wants me to be—the nurse, the secretary, the what-fucking-ever.

  I’m Sarah.

  She blinked back the sting of tears, and the real reason for her not changing her name while at work became apparent. She was Sarah, not Steve or Sam, and that was who she’d stay.

  “What a surprise,” Princess said beneath her breath. “There’s old Drippy, regular as clockwork.”

  Sarah had been with him every week from the start, and he came off as a tad simple, but he always paid what she asked, then afterwards, he gave her a tenner tip. She was appreciated, she mattered, and that was the main thing. Lime had warned her not to get too attached to regulars as it meant the men thought there was more going on than a simple transaction for services rendered, and if they thought any were becoming too close, the girls had to refuse them, tell them to choose someone else.

  Drippy was thin, about fifty, his hair receding, twin empty mountain points that reached halfway back, the skin shiny. What was left on his head rested in tight coils, dark with weavings of grey, a tapestry of a life lived. Veins stood out on the backs of his hands, and a mole sat on his middle knuckle, a raised one with a hair sprouting from it, black as fresh tarmac. He should have revolted her the way he got worked up and sweated, but for some reason, he didn’t. Maybe it was because he always told her his news, allowing her to get to know him, see him as a person rather than a part of her job. Maybe it was him asking her how she was, how her day had gone, and telling her she was important to him, that life with her in it was much nicer than before. He had something to look forward to every week.

  Sarah thought about the attachment thing. “You take him.” She held her hand out for Princess to walk forward.

  They’d made a pact. Stick together and share jobs, and when one was off with a punter, the other stayed behind until they got back.

  Princess laughed. “He won’t want me.”

  Now Sarah came to think about it, that was true. No matter which girl moved to stand by his open passenger-side window, if Sarah was there, he beckoned for her. Thankfully, none of the others got funny about it. They understood some men had favourites, but would Lime let this continue, that was the question.

  Drippy gestured for her, crooking his finger, the mole on his knuckle only a suspicion from this far back, so she walked to his car. The other girls drifted away, and Sarah opened the door. From the corner of her left eye, she clocked Lime and Dave coming out of The Flag, heading for a vehicle parked at the kerb. It must be nine o’clock. She climbed inside Drippy’s and put her seat belt on, nervous with her pimp around. If he could just drive off, that would be grand.

  “Evening,” she said to Drippy, chirpy as you like, masking her nerves.

  He smiled. “How are you?” He pulled away, going in the direction of the warehouses he liked to park near—he had a thing about doing it with her beside the wheelie bins, said the smell of old rubbish heightened it for him.

  She’d never asked why, didn’t care to know. Everyone had their quirks, and that was his. She put up with it because he’d never hurt her, always seemed to care.

  She smiled across at him. “Fine, ta. You?”

  “Great now I’m with you. The wife’s been…difficult this week. Acting all strange, watching me a lot. I’m worried she knows what we get up to. I can’t have her finding out, but I can’t stop seeing you now either. You’re…vital to me, you know that, don’t you?”

  She did. Bless his heart. “I know.”

  In a way, he was vital to her, too. The first person to really ‘see’ her.

  He cleared his throat. “She’d ruin my career if she knew.”

  “So why do you take the risk?”

  “Because I just want someone to love me.”

  God, they were desperate for the same thing.

  “I understand.” She patted his thigh, wishing Lime would drive away so she could relax.

  “Let’s not talk about her.”

  She glanced in the wing mirror as they passed Lime’s car. Lime and Dave sat inside, big blocks of muscle in the front seats. Dave eased out of the parking space and followed. Her guts churned. They watched the girls working sometimes, which was a bit sick in her opinion, but what could she do about it? Maybe it was her turn tonight. Or maybe they’d move off and leave her alone.

  Drippy prattled on about his day at work, how some council meeting had gone from cordial to frosty in seconds, and Sarah nodded at appropriate moments as if she was taking it all in, when in reality, her mind was full of Lime and Dave. They were clearly tailing—otherwise, why had they come out this way? Drippy had driven onto the warehouse area, didn’t seem fazed by the car behind, the headlights on high beams, reflecting off the rearview mirror and into his eyes.

  “Let’s go somewhere else,” she suggested. “And drive there really fast.”

  Drippy darted a glance across at her. “That’s not good, to drive fast. I could get pulled over by the police. They’d see you in the car, and I’d be in trouble. I can’t have that on my record.”

  “We’ll say I’m you girlfriend. Come on, let’s go. Someone’s following us, and I don’t like it.”

  “Oh, well then, that’s a different matter. I don’t want you upset.”

  “It could be your wife, sending out a private detective.” She felt bad for shitting him up, but he had to do as she’d told him. Having those two pervs watching wasn’t on, especially if she knew they were there. Better that they did it when she wasn’t aware.

  “Bloody hell!” Drippy took a right and drove out of the warehouse district, joining the traffic on a dual carriageway.

  Lime had pursued them down the slip road but was lost in the sea of cars behind. She knew he was there, though, and that was enough to keep her on edge, especially as she’d broken one of his rules now.

  Twenty miles per hour was too slow but all Drippy could manage with the congestion. The back of her neck prickled from her guessing Lime would probabl
y have a go at her for not being closer to the corner, leading them on this merry chase.

  Leaving the patch to this degree wasn’t allowed.

  She had to stop worrying and get away from them, deal with the consequences later.

  An escape route came up, a country lane, and she pointed that way by jerking her thumb. “Down there, quick.”

  “Ah, there’s a stream about half a mile in. That’d be nice. We could lie on the grass, and the smell of the water… Let’s hope it’s stagnant, shall we?”

  She didn’t care about the sodding grass at the minute, nor whether he’d get off on the stink of the water, but smiled anyway.

  Drippy took the bend, and Sarah hoped Lime was far back enough that he missed them leaving the carriageway. The lane had no streetlights. Trees and bushes rose either side, black hulks, their tops higgledy-piggledy lines against the pewter-coloured sky. She looked in the side mirror again. Red taillights and headlamp beams became smaller the farther Drippy drove, and she relaxed.

  She’d got away.

  For now.

  A couple of minutes later, he swerved onto a track that had the stream running alongside it to the right, the car pointing towards where they’d come from, that spot of London she lost herself in every night. Squares the size of those on Dave’s houndstooth jacket peppered the far distance, people in houses, going about their business, while she was in a car with a punter, hoping she’d evaded her pimp and his creepy sidekick. All of them oblivious to the other. All of them unaware of her lucky escape.

  Drippy parked and killed the lights. They got out, and Sarah breathed in the night air, releasing it slowly to steady her nerves. She’d got away with it, being watched, but there would be other times she wasn’t as fortunate. And the stream, it didn’t smell at all, so maybe Drippy wouldn’t be able to get it up.

  He managed it all right. They did the business on the bank, hidden behind his car should anyone drive past, and someone did as she pulled the hem of her skirt down afterwards, although they didn’t have their headlights on. The car stopped a few metres along, and she gripped Drippy’s hand, stopping him sorting his trouser button.

  “What are they doing?” she whispered. Was it another girl with a customer or just a couple out for the evening, wanting to do what she’d just done with Drippy? Why park so close, though? Didn’t they want privacy? Was this a dogging area?

  Drippy sucked in a breath. “What if it’s the detective you said about? My career… My wife will…”

  Fucking hell, he was actually considering the detective as a possibility, but then she didn’t know his wife and what she was capable of, did she. Sarah’s throwaway comment to get him to do what she wanted must have wormed its way into his head, and she felt wicked now.

  “We need to leave,” she said, voice low.

  She remained in a crouch and waddle-staggered to the back of the car, fretting—she’d be exposed once she got to the passenger side. Was it Lime and Dave? She couldn’t tell in the darkness.

  Drippy’s door clicked open, the interior light giving away the fact they were leaving, and his car dipped where he’d got in. He started the engine, and the headlamps flashed on.

  Lime’s rear number plate lit up, black letters and numbers on a yellow-orange plaque.

  Fuck. Fuck!

  She stood tall and rushed to the passenger door, heart beating so hard it hurt. If they’d just come to watch, she could have coped with it really, but something told her it was more ominous than that now she’d broached the invisible perimeter of where she was allowed to work. She lost her grip on the handle in her panic, and Drippy stared across from inside, not even bothering to open the bloody door for her. He seemed frozen in panic. She glanced at Lime’s car. Oh God, he was getting out, Dave, too, and they walked her way.

  She whimpered. She shouldn’t be so ridiculously spooked, but her fight or flight had kicked in—she didn’t want to be in any trouble with them as the consequences were sometimes harsh. The girls were taught ‘lessons’ if they did something wrong, and getting Drippy to go to another location had definitely been wrong.

  “What the fuck is up with you, Skittish Drawers?” Lime came to her side and gripped her elbow. A band of light curved along the left side of his face, and motes in the air danced beside him.

  Dave stood in front of Drippy’s car, illuminated by the headlamps, his face stark, his arms crossed. He glared inside at the punter.

  “N-nothing’s up,” she managed.

  “Why the need to get in the car so quickly then? Anyone would think you’d broken the rules.” He pinched her skin and twisted it.

  She winced, holding back a squeal of pain. “I thought you were someone else.”

  Lie.

  He snorted. “Right. I believe you, thousands wouldn’t. Here’s the deal, seeing as you didn’t stop off at the usual warehouse so we could check you’re giving value for money. You’re going to need to do that fella again—I assume you’ve had him already while we were back there fucking about, looking for where you’d gone.”

  She nodded.

  “He’ll have to pay double, but that’s his problem.” Lime nodded at Dave. “Get him out. He can do her over the bonnet.”

  Sarah’s heart sank. It one was thing for Lime and Dave to road test her periodically, but to observe it all going on with the customer in the know? They had to get some sick satisfaction out of it. And poor Drippy at that, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Would he have enough cash on him to pay twice? She’d forgotten to take the first lot off him, distracted on the corner, more intent on getting away. What would they do to him if he didn’t have enough money?

  Dave hauled Drippy out, leant in to switch off the engine but kept the headlights on, and explained the score to him. “So get your trousers down to your ankles, fella, this is your lucky night. A bit more expensive than you planned, but ho fucking hum.”

  Lime shoved Sarah in the back, guiding her along by her elbow. Humiliated, she bent over the bonnet, which was warm from where the engine had been running, her back thankfully to all the men. She could close her eyes and pretend it wasn’t happening, get through it that way.

  Drippy moved into position, his bare legs touching hers. He was having trouble with his equipment down below, no doubt from the audience, and fumbled with the condom. Eventually he managed it, sweating as usual, grunting from the effort. Finished, he stepped away, sorting his trousers, and Sarah straightened, tugging her skirt down, cheeks blazing hot. Those two watching had lacerated her nerves and shredded any self-decency she’d had left.

  She spun to face Lime and Dave, Drippy to her right. He seemed to hover on the brink of dashing into his car then thought better of it—Dave produced a gun from inside his jacket. It looked so black in his hand, the headlamps’ glow giving it an ominous feel.

  Drippy held his hands up. “Dear God! What’s going on? Did my wife send you?”

  Lime’s fist shot out, and the blow landed in Sarah’s stomach, taking her focus off Drippy. She doubled over, crying out, and clutched her belly. An ache stitched with agony seared her insides, and her eyes watered. She coughed, bile racing up her windpipe.

  “Flouting the rules means punishment. Don’t leave the area,” Lime said. “This place? Too far away. Too remote. Anyone could do something to you here, and that means you’d be out of the game for a while if you got attacked—and I’d lose money. I don’t like losing money.”

  “Here, hang on a minute…” Drippy stepped forward.

  Dave slapped him around the head then waved the gun at him. “Mind your fucking business.”

  Drippy blinked in shock. “I was only going to say he can’t hit a woman.”

  “I can hit whoever the hell I like,” Lime said.

  “I’m going to tell the police on you.” Drippy went to get in his car, his sights on the gun.

  He had some balls after all, but then again, if he didn’t know who Lime and Dave were, he didn’t know what they could do. But the gun should give h
im a massive clue.

  Dave grabbed his arm and held it tight. “Wrong thing to say, mate. Haven’t you learnt that sometimes in life, you need to just keep your gob shut?”

  Lime switched his attention to Sarah. “Look what mess you’ve caused.”

  She stared at him. “He’s done nothing wrong. He’s a good man. Just let him go.”

  “What, he’s a good man by threatening us with the police?” Lime laughed and directed his gaze at Drippy. “Nah, mate, you’ll have to go, just in case. No hard feelings, eh?”

  Go… No, not that…

  “Go?” Drippy struggled to get out of Dave’s grip. “I’ll gladly go, but let me take Sarah back to the corner. It’s important to me that she’s safe.”

  Lime smiled. “No, you’re all right. Cheers for the offer, but we’ll do that.”

  “Who are you people?” Drippy glanced between the two men then looked at her. “Sarah?”

  “I’m sorry.” Dread coiled in her gut.

  Lime clamped her around the back of the neck and leant in to whisper, “Ever drowned someone before?”

  She shook her head, terror scurrying through her.

  He chuckled. “No? Ah well, there’s a first time for everything.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blood soaked Debbie’s clothes, the wetness claggy on her skin. She understood now why George had told her to bring a spare set. She’d left it in her car, inside her pink sports holdall. Stupid of her.

  Although she’d used the circular saw on Harry while he was dead, she’d still got drenched. The red stuff had landed on her face, splashing up, and only added to the moment, to her enjoyment—if she had his blood on her, it meant the saying ‘You’ve got blood on your hands’ held more meaning. She wanted it on her, proof that she’d finally got rid of the person who’d taken her man.

  George had told her to wait about half an hour for the blood to congeal—“Less mess, see…”—but she’d ignored that advice. They’d have a crew coming in to clean up afterwards anyway, so what the hell.