Dave frowned.
Charlie continued, “Jimmy Diamond. Kathleen Diamond’s son. The woman who was murdered and dumped in the canal ten years ago. Jimmy is being brought up by his nan.”
Dave nodded. He remembered that murder well. The whole community had been shocked at the death of such a young woman. Dave had kept his ear to the ground, and he’d heard the rumours along with everyone else. The gossip-mongers whispered that Kathleen had been Martin’s mistress, and he’d gotten her pregnant, which meant as Jimmy was the same age as Georgie, there was a good chance Jimmy was Martin Morton’s son.
Dave cocked his head to one side and studied the boy carefully as he watched him through the windscreen of the car.
He couldn’t see any particular similarities — maybe the slight dimple on the boy’s chin — but other than that he couldn’t see any resemblance that might suggest Martin was his father.
“You heard the rumours about Martin and Kathleen?” Dave muttered.
Charlie nodded. “Yes, that’s why I mentioned it. There was some talk about the fact Martin was behind her death… But I don’t know whether that is true.”
Dave nodded. Martin was a nasty bastard, and Dave would not have been surprised to learn he was responsible.
He wondered how much Jimmy Diamond knew about his mother and whether he had any idea who his father was.
As Dave watched the two boys, he tried to work out what to do. If Jimmy had suddenly befriended Trevor, Dave could have easily told Trevor to stay away from him, but Georgie had never had a real friend.
Dave smiled. Jimmy seemed a nice enough kid. He would let Georgie keep seeing him for now and do a little bit of digging to find out whether Martin kept any tabs on his son.
Gary chose that moment to walk into the workshop. He was suited and booted and reeked of aftershave. His hair was carefully Brylcreemed into a slicked back style, and he had a smug grin on his face as he walked up to Dave.
Gary had never done a proper day’s work in his life. Dave loved his younger brother, but he knew his faults. He was a lazy sod, who enjoyed the finer things in life, like booze, women and drugs. They were supposed to have had a meeting with a new supplier this morning, but Gary hadn’t bothered to turn up. Most days he didn’t get out of bed before noon.
Charlie Williams noticed Dave’s change in mood and tactfully walked away, leaving the brothers to talk.
Gary walked up and slapped Dave on the back. “Hello, bruv.”
“You’re a few hours late, Gary,” Dave said.
“Oh, I know. Sorry. Running late today. I had a million and one things to do.”
Dave shook his head but said nothing. It wasn’t worth it. Gary could never see the error of his ways. In his mind, he was a major player, but Dave paid his wages and most of the time, Gary did absolutely nothing to earn them.
That would have to change soon. They were going to have to shake things up around here, and Gary would need to pull his weight. Martin Morton was getting closer to the end of his sentence, and Dave needed to be prepared for when he got out.
The Carters had had it easy for the past few years with no real challenges on their turf. Dave had crushed a couple of young upstarts wanting to chance their luck, stamping out that rebellion as if they were ants beneath his heel.
Martin Morton would be another story, though, and if Dave wanted to keep his powerful position in the East End, he would have to act now before Martin got out of prison.
He had nothing against Martin’s wife or his brother. Neither of them were a real threat to Dave, so he had been more than happy to let them ply their trade in their little corner of the East End, but you didn’t get far in this game by being soft. It was time for Dave to show them exactly how hard he could be.
CHAPTER 20
O ld Mo was a wealthy man. He’d been working for the Mortons in one way or another for almost fifteen years. He had trained as an accountant and made it his business to know every trick in the book when it came to hiding money. He specialised in helping the Mortons hide their profits and channel them through legitimate enterprises like the club that Old Mo was now sitting in.
He was having a grand time tonight. He loved the lifestyle. It was a world away from the old days when he’d had a pokey little office in the West End and a dried-up old secretary.
These days, he owned a nice house out in Essex and kept a little flat off St Paul’s way for business in the week.
Old Mo was sitting between two pretty young ladies wearing skirts so short his eyes nearly bulged out of his head each time he looked at them.
He took a puff on his cigar and grinned at the girl sitting to his right. “What’s your name again, darling?”
The girl tittered out a little laugh and said, “It’s Doreen. You already asked me that.”
“Oh, that’s right, I remember now.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and let his fat fingers drift down her back so he could squeeze her body tight against him.
Doreen pulled a face and shifted back in the seat as far as she could. “Are you sure you really know Tony Morton and can introduce us?”
Old Mo took another mouthful of his Scotch and then smacked his lips together. “Of course, I can, darling,” he lied.
These young girls were so predictable. They were lining up to hop into bed with Tony Morton. If only they knew what old Mo did. Tony was a fool. Nothing like his brother.
Old Mo had been terrified when he’d started working for Martin Morton. He was forever looking over his shoulder, and he would never have dared to do any creative accounting if Martin was still around. But after Martin got locked up, it wasn’t long before Mo realised that Tony hadn’t got a bleeding clue what was going on. He never even bothered to look at the books or get anyone to check Mo’s work.
Of course, it helped that Mo was an intelligent businessman. Unlike these thugs who extorted money from other criminals, Mo didn’t use violence. He didn’t think what he was doing was wrong. In his opinion, the Mortons didn’t deserve the money, so pilfering a little bit off the top hurt no one as far as he was concerned.
But despite Tony’s stupidity, the young girls around here worshipped the ground he walked on.
“Are we going to meet him tonight?” Doreen asked putting a hand on Mo’s forearm.
He grumpily shook her off. He was getting fed up with her whining about Tony.
“Go up to the bar and get yourself another drink,” he said waving his fat, stubby fingers in her direction.
Then he turned to the young girl on his left. Maybe he would have a little more luck with her.
She seemed ever so enamoured with his gold rings.
“Are they all real gold?” the girl asked, flicking her long, brown hair back from her face.
Old Mo couldn’t remember what she was called, but she was pretty enough.
He took his cigar out of his mouth, so he could give her a big smile. “Of course, they are, darling.”
Old Mo put his meaty hand on the girl’s knee and was just about to lean in for a kiss when the girl squealed and sat up straight in her chair.
“Oh my goodness,” she said. “It’s Tony Morton. It’s really him.”
Old Mo grunted and looked up.
Sure enough, Tony had just walked into the club. It was like he was a celebrity — one of those fancy singers on the radio. He walked in with a swagger and was immediately surrounded by ten young women. Lucky bastard, Mo thought, but his jealousy was eased by the fact he knew he was slowly bleeding Tony dry, and the stupid prick didn’t have any idea.
Mo remembered this was why he didn’t come to the club anymore. When he splashed his money around like this, he expected to be the centre of attention. He didn’t want to be upstaged by anyone, especially not a dimwit like Tony Morton. He’d only come tonight because red-haired Freddie had passed on a message that they wanted to see him. He’d heard on the grapevine that they were planning to take a cut from a shipment of stolen goods coming in from the docks
and being stored at Patterson’s boxing club.
He had to hand it to the Mortons. They were certainly opportunists. Mo smothered a yawn as Tony walked over to him.
If it had been Martin, Mo would have scrambled out of his seat and practically bowed in front of him, but as it was only Tony, Mo stayed sitting where he was, sprawled out against the red velvet chair as the girl beside him bounced up and down in excitement.
“Hello, Mo.” Tony delivered a blinding smile. The smile the girls said made him look like a film star.
The girl beside Mo giggled uncontrollably, and it was all Mo could do to resist giving her a backhander.
“Hello, Tony, I hear you wanted to see me.”
Tony looked over his shoulder and then looked back at Mo. “It’s not me, Mo. Babs wanted to have a word. She will be in shortly.”
Mo only just managed to resist curling his lip in disgust. He hadn’t thought much of Tony previously, but now Mo realised he was letting a woman get involved in his business… well, that just said it all, didn’t it?
“I’ll wait here for her then,” Mo said, starting to get to his feet because he fancied another whiskey. He was going to need a drink to get the bitter taste out of his mouth. He scowled when he saw the brown-haired girl, who had been by his side, had now joined the gaggle of women around Tony.
Well, sod them all, Mo thought. The stupid cows didn’t appreciate a good man when they saw one.
* * *
Babs had gone over the books time and time again, and now she was absolutely convinced that Old Mo had been cheating them.
She felt a mixture of trepidation and excitement as she made her way to the club. It was a lovely summer’s evening, and the air was warm as she strode confidently along the street.
She’d asked Tony to make sure old Mo was there tonight. It wasn’t strictly necessary for Babs herself to speak to him, but she wanted to. She wanted to look the man in the eye. She wanted to see if he was able to lie to her face without remorse.
She tried to talk to Tony about it and had even shown him the books, but it was no good. Tony didn’t want to hear it. He swore to her old Mo was loyal. But Babs knew different, and now she had to show that she could be just as ruthless as Martin when it came to dealing with a betrayal.
She knew both red-haired Freddie and Henry the Hand would back her up.
They knew she was really the one with the intelligence to run Martin’s business. They’d worked closely with Tony over the years and saw his weakness for what it was.
Babs nodded to the bouncers on the door and walked straight past the queue into the club. It was heaving. She pursed her lips. Mo must have thought they were absolute idiots to believe takings could be down when business was this good. That’s what hurt most of all. It wasn’t that he’d just taken off a little bit here and there. He’d stolen from them as if they were idiots and would never realise.
Babs tugged the hem of her dress self-consciously, which was at least six inches longer than most of the skirts the other women in the club were wearing.
She felt shocked. How could they call this fashion? She narrowed her eyes as a slim young girl waltz past, wearing a skirt that ended halfway up her thighs. Babs shook her head, scandalised. The sixties had a lot to answer for.
How did their mothers let them out at night? Babs would definitely put her foot down if Ruby tried to go out in a getup like that, she thought, looking at another girl with her skirt well above her knees.
Babs’ excitement and anticipation faded, and she felt old surrounded by these pretty young girls. On the other side of the club, she recognised Jemima, red-haired Freddie’s girl. She was a stunner. Her long, red hair cascaded down her back, and she looked absolutely beautiful. The bloke she was with couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Babs remembered a time when she’d attracted attention like that.
She stifled a sigh and then scanned the club for Freddie and Henry.
There was no sign of Henry, but she saw Freddie over by the bar and walked over to join him. He was chatting with a couple of men Babs recognised, but as soon as Babs approached, Freddie made his excuses and turned his back on them.
He got her a drink and then they walked over to the side of the bar, where it was a little quieter, to talk.
She caught sight of Tony, surrounded by his usual collection of floozies, but ignored him. Babs was better off handling this on her own.
“Is Mo here?” Babs asked.
Freddie nodded. “Yeah. He’s sitting at that table over there.” Freddie jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and then Babs saw Old Mo.
He looked fatter than ever. Babs scowled. He was getting fat on her money, the bastard. And what did he look like with all those bloody gold rings on? She never trusted a man who wore too much jewellery.
“Have you made a decision, Babs?”
Babs nodded. She was going to speak to Mo first, but it didn’t really matter what he said. She had made up her mind. Old Mo needed to be punished.
“Yes. We’ll do it first thing in the morning. We have to act quickly.”
Freddie was an old hand at this game, and he didn’t look shocked and didn’t try to change Babs’ mind, despite the fact he’d worked side-by-side with Old Mo for the past fifteen years. Freddie’s loyalty was to the Mortons and no one else.
“Of course, Babs. Have you talked about this with Martin?”
Babs licked her lips and took a sip of a drink as she decided how to answer. She could tell Freddie the truth because she was quite sure he would be loyal to her, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Especially not if Tony found out. As far as Tony knew, they were just talking to Mo about the accounts.
Babs nodded. “Yes, Martin has given it the green light.”
Red-haired Freddie grinned. “Right then. Where do you want to do it?”
Babs swallowed. It was all starting to feel real now. She hadn’t done anything like this before. So she had to rely on Freddie’s advice. “Where do you suggest?”
Freddie shrugged. “The warehouses behind the wharf would be good.” He gave her a devilish smile. “No one will hear his screams there.”
His words made Babs feel a little dizzy, but she didn’t intend to show it. She gave him a firm nod and then said, “Right. Have him there by nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Then she said goodnight to Freddie and made her way over to Mo’s table.
* * *
By the time Babs finally arrived, Mo was a little worse for wear. He’d said hello to some of the faces he recognised, but mainly it was youngsters hanging out at the club these days, and he felt well out of place.
He was getting on for fifty now, and he couldn’t abide all this fast music, although he had to admit he appreciated the shorter hemlines. He licked his lips as he took a lecherous look at a girl who leaned over the bar to reach her drink, causing her skirt to rise up.
He puffed on his cigar moodily and had downed another two scotches before Babs slid into the seat next to him. She’d been quiet and because of the noise of the music in the club, Mo hadn’t noticed her approach.
He embarrassed himself by jumping in surprise.
“Babs,” he said, quickly recovering his poise. “What a pleasure, darling. I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Babs didn’t return his smile. She gave him a sharp nod in greeting and then launched right into business.
Babs Morton had once been a looker. Mo could remember how beautiful she’d been when she was younger. But now those elegant, fine features that had made her such a stunner had turned hard. The lines on her face betrayed a difficult life. Her platinum blonde hair had now been dyed so many times it practically looked like straw. She had it smoothed back from her face in a trendy style, but it didn’t help. Compared to all the young women in the club, Babs was looking old.
“You’re looking as gorgeous as ever,” Mo said, trying one of Tony’s lines on Babs.
It didn’t work. Babs’ hard features didn’t soften as sh
e glared at Mo.
“I’ve been taking a look through the books, Mo. Tony told me takings were down.”
For the first time in years, Mo felt a pang of nerves. The way Babs was looking at him, he could almost believe she was on to him. But she couldn’t be. What the hell did she know about the business?
“That’s true, Babs. Takings have been down, and the price of booze has been going up. It’s a difficult time to run a business. Not like back in the fifties. Things were easier then.”
“What I don’t understand,” Babs said as she tapped a long, red, painted fingernail on the table in front of them, “is why this place is packed to the rafters every night and yet takings are down? Sorry, Mo. That doesn’t make any sense.”
Jesus Christ, thought Mo, breaking out into a cold sweat. She knows. The canny bitch had worked it out. He’d been getting greedy. At first, he’d only taken a few quid here and there, gently skimming off the top, and nobody would have noticed if he’d stuck to that.
Beneath the table, he clenched his fists, desperately trying to think of a way to get out of this mess.
“It looks busy, Babs, but the kids don’t drink as much these days. If you look around, you’ll see they are all youngsters in here. They’re not your old-fashioned, heavy drinkers, are they? The clientele has changed.”
Babs gave him a cold smile, and that’s when Mo knew he really had been rumbled.
Crap. He had to get out of there. Thank God Martin was still locked up.
“I don’t think that is the case at all, Mo.”
“No?” Mo said, trying to sound innocent, but the sweat pouring off his forehead told a different story.
“I think somebody has been dipping their hand into our pockets.”
Mo swallowed hard and shook his head frantically. “I hope you’re not suggesting…” he began to say haughtily, but then the words faded in his mouth as he saw the look on Babs’ face.
Maybe Mo had been wrong. He’d been keeping his eye on Tony all this time, but maybe he should have been watching Babs. He could only hope Martin’s wife didn’t have the same taste in revenge as her husband.
East End 02-East End Diamond Page 13