She went back next door and sashayed over. ‘Foxy momma is here to take care of her . . .’ she kicked off her platform shoe, lifted her foot and slowly placed it on Lord Nob’s hard knob, ‘. . . big baby bear.’
Cleo gave Tom a right royal seeing-to, making sure he lost his flat cap and gave the camera a good profile. Like many women, she was a past master at detaching herself from the act and focusing on other things. She had plenty to think about.
As she bounced up and down on the howling Lord Nob, she wondered – who was Pete’s brother, Stan? And what did he have to do with the specials?
Twenty-Three
Bang! Bang! Bang!
‘Hold your bloody horses,’ Babs yelled as the knocker went like the devil on her front door.
Babs didn’t really have time for a chat, so whoever it was had better state their business quickly. She didn’t feel her best this morning. The baby had been using its feet like it was trying out for Arsenal all night and when she’d woken up she’d felt slightly off-balance. She moved to the door and was shocked to see who was on the other side.
‘Have you seen my Denny?’ a very distressed Maggie Brooks begged. Denny’s mother was not a fashion plate at the best of times, but today she looked one step down from awful. Dark circles under her eyes, hair uncombed and greasy. The poor woman was shaking like she’d just been told she was dying. She stumbled into the passage and had to press her hand against the wall to keep upright.
‘Denise! Denise!’ she called out.
‘She isn’t here, Mrs Brooks.’
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes were glazed and wild. ‘She’s got to be. I’ve looked high and low and I can’t find my girl.’ Her voice ended on a shriek that turned into heart-wrenching sobbing. Her body bowed forward like she was about to break into two.
‘Come on.’ Babs held her as she took her to the sitting room.
Babs handed her a glass of gin and then sat next to her. ‘I haven’t seen Denny since last week. She was nice and chirpy—’
‘Why?’ Maggie’s bloodshot eyes snapped to her. ‘Has she got some fella hidden away I don’t know about?’
Babs shook her head. ‘You know she isn’t that type of girl.’
Maggie gulped heavily at her glass. ‘I know things haven’t been easy at home. What with Darren trying . . .’ She caught her words back in alarm.
Darren trying . . .? Babs suddenly understood what had been troubling her friend. That animal of a stepfather of hers had been trying it on with her. She should have guessed. The one and only time she’d been around Denny’s, Darren Brooks had gazed at her with such blatant lust in his eyes she’d vowed never to go there again. Poor Denny.
Babs was angry and let it show. ‘You should’ve slung that old man of yours out. Better still, you should’ve called the coppers on him. How could you have let him at Denny?’
Maggie’s eyes turned bright with unshed tears. ‘What could I do? I needed a man to help me with the kids. A woman isn’t meant to be on her own.’
Putting a man ahead of your daughter disgusted Babs but she kept schtum; going into one wouldn’t help.
Maggie took a breath. ‘She quit the factory because she said she had a new job. She must’ve told you about it.’
‘New job?’ Babs muttered under her breath. That’s when she remembered what Denny had told her, in this very room, about an interview with Mickey for a modelling job. She’d warned Denise not to get involved with the geezer . . . and now she hadn’t come home.
‘She never told me a dickie bird about no new job,’ Babs lied. Denise’s mum was tearing her hair out and Babs didn’t want to make things worse by telling her about the Go Go Girls Modelling Agency. Plus, what if she’d got this all wrong and it had nish to do with Mickey Ingram? Best to keep her own counsel at this stage. She vowed to ask Stan what he knew when she got to work.
Mel sat in her mink coat smoking a cigarette and staring at Pete, just waking up after a long sleep. In an armchair nearby her husband looked grim-faced, like a doctor with bad news sitting by the bedside of an accident victim. Pete struggled up, hampered by his fingers, which stuck to the blanket he was lying on.
Pete used his elbows to lever himself upwards, but fell backwards and only managed to sit up on a third try. He looked shocked to see two other people watching him.
Mickey put his cup down and sneered. ‘Good night?’
Pete didn’t seem sure. ‘I dunno. I can’t remember.’
Mel watched as Pete tried to pull his fingers apart. He was in such a state that it was a few moments before he realised why they were stuck. They were caked in blood. He looked at Mickey and Mel but neither said anything. Mel stubbed out her cigarette and lit another one. She watched Pete’s glazed and sodden eyes focus and wander around the room. There was blood everywhere. It was sprayed on the wallpaper, dripped on the carpet and puddled on the bedclothes. And most of all, it was up and down his clothes like red paint. Once again, he looked at Mickey and Mel for an answer but got none.
Finally, he yelped, raised his red hands and blubbed, ‘What the fuck’s going on?’
Mickey avoided his gaze and, with a sad shake of his head, picked his cuppa up again. Mel glared at him. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on. You remember that girl you met last night in the VIP lounge? Mickey’s new model – Denise?’
‘No . . .’ Then he blinked. ‘Yeah . . .’
Mel nodded. ‘Well, you killed her.’
It took Pete a while to understand. It took a little longer before he became by turns angry and terrified. His words flowed out in shock. ‘Fuck off. I ain’t killed no one. Where is this girl? Why would I kill anyone? What’s the matter with you? I’m not a killer, I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Where’s the body? You’re taking the piss. What is this – Candid Camera?’
Mel gave him a grim smile. ‘Right – so what do you make of all this blood then? Do you think someone’s spilt a crate of claret? We’re not running an abattoir, are we? Mind you, I don’t blame you, I blame Mickey . . .’
Mickey was outraged. ‘Me? How’s it my fault?’
Mel turned on him. ‘You were the one who told him to give the girl a hiding. You could see the state Pete was in; you should have guessed what was gonna happen.’
Mickey was even angrier. ‘I told him to rough her up – I didn’t tell him to beat her to a pulp and leave the pieces on the carpet. What’s the matter with you?’
‘Oh yes, because giving girls a right-hander is beneath you. You’re far too important for that, aren’t you?’
‘Fuck off, you bitch!’
Mel hissed, ‘Are you gonna keep your voice down? Or maybe you want to throw the window open and let the neighbours know?’
The growing ding-dong was interrupted by a knock on the door. When Mickey had confirmed who it was, Cleo walked in. She was still wearing the red mini-dress from the night before. She avoided Pete’s eyes.
Mickey whispered, ‘Did you sort it for me?’
‘Yeah. A couple of the boys took it up the council incinerator.’
Mickey nodded. ‘Are you sure they don’t know what was it in it?’
Cleo was deadpan. ‘Not exactly – I couldn’t ask them if they realised it was a stiff wrapped up in carpet, could I?’
Mickey nodded again. ‘Sure. OK. They’re reliable anyway. Thanks for sorting that for me. I’ll make it up to you another time. Get Pete a bucket and mop; he’ll have to clear up in here. Then take the rest of the day off.’
Pete came out of his daze and wailed, ‘They’re saying I did some girl in.’ He shook his head furiously. ‘I’d never do that. Not me.’
She refused to answer him, only looking at him with anger in her eyes, then left the room. Mel called after her, ‘Don’t go anywhere yet young lady, I want a word with you after.’
Pete started rocking on the bed, bawling like a small child. ‘I want my mum.’
Mickey sighed. ‘Your mum can’t help you now. Only me and the missus here can. Don’
t worry about the girl; she was just some scrubber anyway. Trouble is, she might have family and they might go to the law, who might join the dots. We don’t want them snooping around. You can flash the cash at the Bill to iron out a few wrinkles but not when it comes to murder. I don’t even know if their homicide boys are for hire, I’ve never had to deal with them.’
Mickey’s voice hardened. ‘But do as you’re told and we can sort this. I’m gonna get one of the boys to drive you to the coast and book you into a B&B under a fake name. Stay there until I give you the nod so you can come back to town and everything will be cushty. If the plod come round, we’ll front it out. Although you’re not coming back here. This is a respectable establishment. This ain’t some fairground boxing outfit where a slip of a girl goes up against a murderous drunk.’
Pete put his head in his hands. ‘I need to call Stan. He’ll know what to do.’
Mickey was savage. ‘Fuck Stan. You’re not talking to him. This is all his fault. If he hadn’t fobbed his alkie brother on me, this would’ve never happened. We’ll give Stan the full SP later.’
Pete’s tears dried a little. ‘I still want to speak to him.’
Mel got up and sat beside Pete, taking care to avoid the blood. She squeezed his arm. ‘Don’t be silly. You know he’d hand you over to the law if he thought there was something in it for him. Leave this to us. Clean the room and go on holiday. We’ll call you.’
Pete looked at his hands. The tears had turned the dried blood back into liquid. He began to wipe them frantically on the pillowcase. He couldn’t believe Stan would sell him out. But then he remembered what had happened to Stan when they were young and how his brother blamed him for it.
He decided to do what he was told.
Cleo was slumped in her room when the witch Mel came in. She’d never liked Mickey’s missus. There was something about her that put Cleo in mind of a dog with rabies. And now she had her fangs in her.
‘If Mickey had told me what was in that carpet I’d have run the other way,’ Cleo said, every word clipped with anger.
Mel walked over to her. ‘Well you’re in it up to your neck now.’
Cleo raged, ‘Pete didn’t kill that girl. I saw what state he was in last night – he was so pissed, he couldn’t beat an egg. He didn’t kill her. And Mickey didn’t either. He’s small time. He ain’t the got the guts to kill someone in cold blood—’
‘Here’s a news flash,’ Mel growled. ‘Pete was a murder waiting to happen. You know that; everyone knows that.’ Her tone softened. ‘I’ll sort you out.’
‘I don’t want your effing money,’ Cleo spat. ‘The only reason I’m still sitting here is Pete. If he did do this – if – it was an accident.’
Mel sneered. ‘You keep telling yourself that. In the meantime, don’t think about shooting your mouth off to the plod. They don’t have a lot of confidence in the word of a slag like you. Plus, there’s already been one bird offed in this house. We wouldn’t want another one, would we?’
Mel stalked out of the room, leaving Cleo seething. She weren’t scared of Mel or her thicko husband. But Pete . . .
Cleo dropped her head into her hands in despair. ‘Pete, oh Pete.’
Twenty-Four
Babs was in a right two and eight by the time she got to the office. She practically bashed the door in. She didn’t care; all she could think about was talking to Stan about Denny. She barged into his office without knocking.
‘Oops,’ she said as he looked at her sharply, none too pleased with her intrusion. She should have remembered that he hated being taken by surprise.
‘This better be good . . .’ he told her, leaning back in his chair.
Now she had her moment she felt all tongue-tied. But she reminded herself that Denny had said she was going to meet his mate Mickey. She just didn’t know when.
‘Don’t just stand there catching flies,’ Stan shot out impatiently. She’d never seen him this grumpy before. ‘I’m trying to run a business here . . .’ He caught himself. ‘Sorry Babs-babe, I got out of bed the wrong side. What’s up?’
‘My mate Denise has gone missing.’ The words shot out of her mouth.
‘What happened?’
Babs took a step closer. ‘Well, you see . . .’
But before she could finish they were interrupted by a sarky voice. ‘Not interrupting a lovers’ quarrel, am I?’
Mickey Ingram stood in the doorway with some flash lemon curd on his arm. The woman was a looker, there was no doubt about it, but Babs reckoned she was all fur coat and no knickers. In fact, she was wearing a fur coat – mink. The woman might’ve had all the right clobber but it looked cheap on her.
The woman’s gaze zeroed in on Babs’ belly and then she smirked at Stan. ‘You been a naughty boy? Sticking your big camera where it don’t belong?’
He ignored her and told Babs, ‘We’ll continue our chat later.’
‘We’ll need three Nescafes,’ the woman said.
Babs nodded. She headed for the door, looking over at Mickey. She was tempted to ask him there and then about Denny, but decided against it. Better to keep it zipped until she talked to Stan. Plus, Mickey would spin her a load of old cobblers anyway. Babs closed the door, then hesitated, almost tempted to stick her ear against it. Almost. What if she got caught and lost her job? Where would she be then? Not many bosses were willing to take on a girl with a child in her belly. She got on with making the coffee and bided her time.
As soon Mickey and Mel parked their arses in his office, Stan knew they were about to try and piss all over him. He divided the world up into smart people and thick people. Stan was smart. Mickey was thick. But Mel was one of the smart ones. The fact that Mickey was looking pleased with himself didn’t bother Stan. The fact that Mel looked like a mink-coated cat with the cream did.
As soon as Babs had set down the three cups of instant coffee and closed the door, Mickey got into it. ‘I want that girl out and I want Bev brought back. The girl must be nearly ready to drop her sprog anyway.’
Mel quickly followed on. ‘Tell her she ain’t coming back afterwards. Our Bev’s getting her old job back and she’ll be answering to my husband.’
Stan wasn’t stupid; he knew the duo having a go at Babs was just them warming up for the kill. He said nothing. He was in no hurry to get them to the point. The more time they spent talking trash, the longer it gave him to suss out what they were up to. It was Mel he was interested in. She was smart in an East End way. In other circumstances, Stan might have found a use for her. But he’d always known that it would come down to a fight. Mickey was a thick thug and gutter pimp. Mel was the nifty one. But Stan was niftier.
When Mickey didn’t get a response, he added with menaces, ‘Is that a problem?’
Stan took out his silver cigarette case and lit up. He paused to blow a few smoke rings before coolly asking, ‘Is there something on your mind? You seem a little put out. Come on, spit it out, we’re all grown-ups here.’
Mickey flicked a quick sideways glance at his wife before giving his full attention back to Stan. ‘As it happens, there is something on my mind. I’ve been having a think about the business. I’ve decided it’s better for it to be a one-man operation again. Obviously I’ll dosh you up for any contribution you’ve made. That’s only fair.’ Mickey seemed to feel he was being eminently reasonable.
Stan lifted an eyebrow as he sucked in a lug of smoke. Breathed out. ‘Oh dear. That’s a shame. What’s brought that on?’ He could see Mel was itching to get involved but was restraining herself.
‘Oh, you know. In business one head is better than two.’
Stan smirked. ‘I dunno; it depends whose head it is, don’t it?’
Mel finally started spitting nails. ‘OK, let’s stop mucking around. You think we don’t know what’s been going on here? What you’ve been up to? I was up the land registry the other day and guess what? Some of Mickey’s properties have been transferred to your name, including those two houses in Mile
End. You slippery little sod.’
Stan let her rip. He knew keeping calm would wind her up. ‘It hardly matters; they’re all part of the business. Who cares what name they’re in? Anyroads, Mickey signed the transfers.’
‘Because he signed them without looking at them. Because he trusted you.’
Stan started laughing. ‘Ere, Mickey, your missus is accusing you of being too thick to read documents before you sign them. You ain’t putting up with that from a bird, are you?’
Mickey’s face twisted into open hatred. ‘I’ll tell you what’s going on – you ain’t. And if you keep riling me up, I don’t care how long I’ve known you, it’s not long enough to stop me kicking you all over Soho. That’s a promise.’
Stan smiled back. ‘I’m sure. A hard man with no brains, the worst possible combination.’
Mickey rose to his feet, fizzing, his fist tight by his side. ‘Come on then. Let’s take it outside, you ponce.’
Mel touched his sleeve. ‘Sit down, baby. There’s no need for any unpleasantness. I’m sure Stan will be reasonable.’ Mel took a brown A4 envelope out of her handbag and placed it on Stan’s desk.
Stan looked at it and knew he was in big trouble. ‘What’s that?’
Mel was smiling wide, like she was about to bag a large prize. ‘It’s a deed drawn up by our brief. You’re going to sign over your side of the business to us. And then you’re going to transfer all Mickey’s property back to him. And then we’ll call it quits.’
The stupid bint was having a laugh. But she had confidence in spades, which spooked him badly. ‘I don’t think so.’
Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series) Page 14