by Hugh Fraser
‘Good.’
‘Is the law involved?’
‘No.’
‘Any bodies?’
‘No.’
‘Anything at all?’
‘Nothing. I send boys to where they live but they find nothing but maybe a few clothes or something.’
He goes to a desk by the window, picks up a piece of paper and hands it to me.
‘This is a list of the names of missing girls, where they worked and their home addresses. They are stupid. If they work only in my clubs the boys make them safe, but they try to be clever and meet punters outside for more money with no protection.’
He takes a fat wad of fivers out of a drawer and hands it to me. ‘Expenses.’
I put the money and the list in my bag. ‘There’s one thing,’ I say.
‘Yes?’
‘None of your lot must know I’m in this.’ He thinks for a moment, nods.
‘Ok.’
I get up and ask, ‘Is your phone straight?’
He nods, gives me a card from his pocket, and shows me to the front door. It closes behind me as I walk across the parquet floor and call the lift.
I’ve got time to do a bit of shopping in Harrods before I need to be at the Walmer Castle. I wander through the perfume department thinking about dead brasses and wonder how many of the posh girls behind the counters are seeing to a gentleman’s pleasure for a few quid on the side. I try a few perfumes and end up buying my usual Chanel and some mascara. I go up to ladies’ fashions, try on a few things and come away with a black chiffon cocktail dress with a pleated skirt, and a beautiful dark blue and silver lurex evening dress by Dior that’s all clingy and sophisticated. Then it’s downstairs to ladies’ shoes for a pair of Enrico Coveri stilettos in a dark purple. I count what’s left of Tony’s money, making it near to three hundred quid, and go downstairs to the bank in the basement. I pay it into a snide account I’ve got there, using a false passport that I carry for identification.
I drive to Notting Hill Gate and on down to Walmer Road. I park the car and put on an old coat that I keep in the boot so I don’t look conspicuous in the pub. The man I’m meeting is sitting at the far end of the bar. He sees me, finishes his pint, slides his fat arse off the stool and follows me into the street. He walks past me and round the corner towards a white Jaguar parked in Artesian Road. He gets in and opens the passenger door. I get in beside him as he takes out a packet of cigarettes and belches beer fumes. He lights a fag.
‘Nice job Rina,’ he says.
‘Where’s the money?’
‘He had it coming.’
‘I don’t want to know.’
‘Took a right fuckin’ liberty.’
‘Just give me the money.’
‘All in good time.’
‘I want it now.’
‘It’s in the boot.’
‘And I get out to get it and you drive off eh?’
‘You know me better than that.’
‘I know you’re a conniving old bastard that would kill your granny for a fiver.’
He laughs.
‘You’re old Harry’s girl all right.’
‘Old Harry’s girl wants her money.’
He heaves his bulk out of the car, goes to the boot, comes back with a brown envelope, and tosses it into my lap.
‘One and a half large, I think we said?’
I take the notes out of the envelope, flick through them and put them in my bag. Bert Davis fancies himself as a dangerous villain but he’s just an errand boy for George Preston, who is dangerous. Bert grew up with George and my dad in the Notting Hill slums. He hung onto George’s coat tails while he built up a strong firm out of robbery and protection, becoming the most feared man in Notting Hill and Shepherd’s Bush. George Preston’s son Johnny was the one I killed when he tried to rape Georgie when she was little. Johnny’s brother Dave chickened out of taking revenge and made me kill a face from a rival firm who he’d put it about was Johnny’s killer. I did it and got grassed for it, but Dave took the rap in the end rather than lose face in front of his father. George knows everything, but he’s let me get away with it rather than having it known that his oldest boy was a nonce and his youngest one a coward. Bert looks at me.
‘You started a fashion last night.’
‘What?’
‘Some tom got done in Stepney.’
‘Where did you hear that?’
‘In the pub.’
‘From who?’
‘Just some geezer.’
He reaches for the door handle and says, ‘You want a drink?’
‘No, I’ve got to get back.’
‘How’s your Georgie, all right?’
‘She’s fine thanks.’
‘See you then.’
‘Yeah.’
I walk to my car wondering why an old sleazebag like Bert Davis is asking about Georgie. Bert follows me round the corner and slouches back into the pub. I sit in the car and have a look at the list of missing girls that Maltese Tony gave me. One of the girls, Mary Weedon, lived in Stepney and worked at a clip joint in Dean Street called the Heaven and Hell Club. If she was only killed last night, then it’s a long shot that Tony would have known about it but I’ve got to start somewhere. I reckon I’ve got time to go to Stepney and be back in time to get Georgie’s tea. I start the car and head along Westbourne Grove into town.
• • •
An hour later I’ve waded through the traffic into east London and I turn off Mile End Road and find the street I’m looking for. I park and walk between the rows of small terraced houses. I can see a mechanical digger knocking eight bells out of the far end of the terrace. They’re probably demolishing the whole lot for slum clearance and building a block of new flats. I find the house I want and ring the bell. After a bit I hear someone coming down some stairs and a girl’s voice.
‘Who is it?’
‘Mary Weedon?’
‘She’s not here.’
‘Are you expecting her back?’
‘No.’
‘Where would I find her?’
‘I don’t know.’
I hear footsteps going upstairs. I say, ‘I’m a friend of her mother’s.’
The footsteps stop.
‘I’ve got something from her mother for her.’
She comes downstairs and opens the door slowly. She’s a thin, frail little thing of sixteen or seventeen with dark hair, haunted eyes and a pretty face, wearing a silk dressing gown and last night’s make-up. She looks frightened. I smile and show her my handbag.
‘Like I said, I’ve got something for her. Can I come in?’
She hesitates, then she nods and opens the door a bit wider. I go in and follow her up the stairs to a room with a threadbare sofa and an unmade single bed against the wall. Drab grey curtains are drawn across a small window. A TV set, with the sound off, is showing some kids’ programme with puppets. She turns it off, opens the curtains and turns to me.
‘Where’s the body?’ I ask.
‘What?’
‘I know she’s dead so don’t fuck about.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Never mind that. Tell me all you know, now!’
I take a blade out of my handbag and step towards her. She cowers against the wall and starts crying.
‘I found her last night but that’s all. I don’t know anything!’
‘Where was she?’
‘In her bedroom next door. She was…’
‘She was what?’
‘Dead.’
She collapses onto the floor, tears pouring. I put the knife away and go to her. I help her up off the floor and put my arms round her.
‘It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve had a nasty shock, that’s all.’
She leans against me and sobs. I stroke her tears away and she puts her arm round my shoulder. I help her to the sofa and sit beside her. I can see how terrified she is. I take her hand.
‘What’s your name?’<
br />
‘Julie.’
‘You’re quite safe now Julie. Just tell me what happened and I’ll leave you in peace.’
She looks at me. ‘It was late. I was in bed.’
‘And?’
‘I heard Mary come back from the club and she was with someone.’
‘Was that normal?’
‘Most nights, yeah.’
‘Go on.’
‘I must have gone to sleep ‘cos I suddenly heard her screaming and this thumping and banging.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I got out of bed and went on to the landing, and then the noise stopped. It was dead quiet and I was scared to go in so I went back in my room and hid under the bed. Then I heard her door open and someone going down the stairs and out the front door. I waited a bit and then I went into her room and found her.’
She starts weeping again. I put my arm round her. ‘It’s all right.’
She leans into me and rocks against me as she continues.
‘She was on the floor, naked, and her neck was twisted round and her back was all bruised. I heard the front door opening and I ran into my room and hid under the bed again and he came upstairs. I could hear him in there moving about and that, until it was almost getting light outside and then I heard him on the landing dragging something along and down the stairs. I opened the door a crack and he’s at the bottom of the stairs and he picks up this big plastic sack and he puts it over his shoulder and carries it out the front door. I waited for a bit and went into Mary’s room and she was gone and I knew he’d taken her away.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘I only saw him from the back.’
‘Tall or short?’
‘Tall, I think.’
She’s crying again and I put both arms round her. I’m stroking her hair and soothing her when I hear the front door open and heavy footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door opens and a short bald-headed man in a black overcoat walks in.
‘What the fuck’s this?’
Julie pulls away from me, wiping her eyes. ‘We was just talking.’
He looks at me and says,
‘Who’s this?’
‘Just a friend.’
‘You ain’t got no fucking friends and you should be out on that street girl.’
‘I’m not well,’ she says.
‘I’ll give you not well.’
He slaps her hard across the face and she falls off the sofa onto the floor. As he goes to hit her again I say, ‘Leave her.’
He turns, and looks hard at me.
‘Mind your fucking business and piss off before I chuck you down them stairs!’
‘Fuck you!’
He lunges for my neck so I twist sideways and smash my elbow into the side of his head. As he staggers I punch him hard under the chin which snaps his head back and knocks him out. Julie screams as he lands heavily on the floor beside her. I feel the blade in my pocket and think about cutting him and although I’d like to there’s probably no point.
Julie gets to her feet. ‘Oh my Christ, he’ll fucking kill me now!’
‘Get some clothes on. You’re coming with me.’
‘What?’
‘You can’t stay here.’
‘But…’
‘It’s all right. Get dressed.’
As she goes to the wardrobe and takes off her dressing gown I see how thin she is in her lacy bra and panties. I go onto the landing and have a look in Mary Weedon’s room. There are a couple of old armchairs and a bed. I check the wardrobe and the chest of drawers and find them empty. Whoever cleaned up did a thorough job.
I go back into Julie’s room and she’s dressed in a tight black skirt, an off the shoulder sweater and high heels. She’s holding her handbag.
‘Ok, let’s go,’ I say.
She looks at the figure lying on the floor.
‘What about Don?’
‘Forget him.’
‘But…’
‘He’ll come round in a bit. Come on.’
She takes a jacket from the wardrobe and puts it on. I take her hand, lead her downstairs and out of the front door. There’s no one about in the street as we walk to my car and get in. As I drive back along Mile End Road I can feel her relaxing beside me.
‘Where are we going?’ she asks.
‘Maida Vale.’
‘What’s there?’
‘My flat.’
This seems to satisfy her and we drive in silence for a while, but I’m curious. ‘Don’s your pimp?’
She nods.
‘He was lovely at first. Then he turned nasty.’
‘That’s what they do.’
‘Are you…?’
‘No.’
The traffic thickens as we reach Pentonville Road. Julie is turned away from me, staring out of the side window.
‘Where are you from?’ I ask.
‘Bromley.’
‘What brought you into London?’
‘I ran away.’
‘How come?’
‘They chucked me out.’
‘Who did?’
‘My mum and this bloke who moved in with us after my dad left.’
‘Charming.’
‘They was drinking and fighting all the time and when he started trying to do things to me I told my mum on him and she wouldn’t believe me. She called me a slag and threw me out.’
‘How old were you?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘Where did you go?
‘I stayed with my friend for a bit until I got caught thieving then I did a runner up to London.’
‘Did you know anyone here?’
‘No.’
‘How did you get by?
‘I was dossing where I could and robbing shops and that, then I met Don.’
‘Where?’
‘Victoria Station. You could sleep in the waiting room there, unless the police came and threw you out. He bought me a meal and took me to his house and let me stay with him and he was really kind to me.’
‘How long before he had you working?’
‘A couple of months. He said he’d lost all his money on a bet and there were blokes after him who’d kill him if he couldn’t give them something and I had to help him out like he’d helped me.’
I turn right off Marylebone Road and drive round the edge of Regent’s Park wondering why I didn’t rid London of one more lowlife scumbag while I had the chance.
The setting sun’s dropping behind the big white terraces on one side of us and there’s people walking dogs and women pushing prams and pushchairs in the park. Julie is looking round her in awe.
‘Imagine living in one of them houses, eh?’
‘You’d get lost I reckon.’
‘No one does live in them though do they, it’s all museums and that ain’t it?’
‘People live in them all right.’
‘Blimey.’
3
It’s almost dark by the time we get to the flat. Dennis has just started his night shift and he looks up from behind his desk as we walk through the glass door and clocks the contents of Julie’s tight skirt. He beams at us, wishes us a good evening and scurries across the foyer to call the lift. As it appears from the basement he pulls the iron gates open and ushers us in, almost sniffing Julie as she passes him. When I see that he’s about to say something I drop half a crown in his hand and he thanks me ever so much and closes the gates on us.
We get out at the fifth floor and I can see Julie looking worried as we walk towards my door. I stop and put my hand on her arm.
‘It’s ok. It’s just me and my sister. There’s nothing to worry about.’
She nods and manages a smile. I open the door and see that Georgie’s bedroom light is on. I lead Julie into the hall and turn on the light.
‘Let’s have a cup of tea, eh?’
I take her into the kitchen, hang up her jacket, sit her down at the table and put the kettle on. ‘Back in a sec,’ I say.
; I pick up my handbag, go in the bathroom and use a nail file to unscrew one of the panels on the side of the bath. I put the money I got from Bert in with the rest of my petty cash and replace the panel, then I go and put my head round Georgie’s door. She’s at her desk with her school books, writing.
‘You ok?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’
‘Exam go all right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘There’s someone here.’
She looks up from her writing. ‘Who is it?’
‘A girl who’s been chucked out of her flat. She might stay for a bit.’
‘Ok.’
‘Come and say hello?’
‘In a bit. I need to finish this.’
She picks up her pen and starts writing again.
‘I’ll put the tea on,’ I say.
I’m hoping she and Julie’ll get on. Georgie doesn’t have any friends that I know of. All she does is her school work and reading, and whilst I’m glad she’s learning things and doing so well at school I wish I could see her having a bit of fun sometimes and coming out of herself. As I’m closing the door she says,
‘The phone’s been ringing.’
‘All right,’ I reply and go into the kitchen. The kettle’s boiling, so I fill the teapot and light the gas under the frying pan.
‘Fry-up all right?’
‘Yeah, lovely,’ says Julie.
‘I didn’t have time to shop today.’
While the fat’s melting in the pan I pour a cup of tea and give it to her. I pull down the flap of the kitchen cabinet, lay out eggs, bacon and a tin of beans, and take half a loaf of bread out of the bread bin. Julie says,
‘Can I do anything?’
‘You can cut the bread if you like.’
I put the bread on the table with the bread knife and turn on the radio. Some old orchestra’s playing some classical. Georgie must have had it on the Third Programme. I turn the dial and find Radio Luxembourg and we get The Shadows twanging away. I put the bacon and eggs in the pan and open the tin of beans. Julie finishes cutting the bread.
‘This is a lovely flat.’
‘Mm.’
I can sense her relaxing as she sips her tea and looks out of the window. She turns to me and says, ‘I’ll work for you, you know.’
‘No you won’t.’
‘Isn’t that what you want?
‘No.’