by Jacqui Rose
‘I’m sorry. Residents or guests with residents only.’
‘Do you want me to say the magic word?’
The concierge looked haughtily at Eddie. ‘I really don’t think saying please will make a difference sir.’
Eddie went into his pocket, pulling out some fifties, and pushed a dozen or so into the concierge’s hand, whose eyes lit up. ‘But I guess it depends on what sort of please it is.’ Eddie gave a wry smile. The magic word worked every time.
Inside the flats, Eddie whistled to himself. They’d only just been built and the spec was higher than the one Freddie had put him up in, and that was saying something. Black marble covered the floor and the walls. Red roses sat on mirrored tables. Chandeliers hung from the ceilings and a sweet smell of orange blossom hung in the air. The man must have a bit of dough tucked away unless of course Tasha was footing the bill for him.
The corridor was clear. Eddie put his head on the door to see if he could hear anyone. Nothing. Without hesitation, he used the electronic door pick he’d acquired from Bobby, Johno’s cousin, to undo the lock and enter the flat.
The moment he entered, Eddie could hear the shower running. He took the opportunity to have a quick look around. As he did, he began to think and the more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him. Tasha and this fella hadn’t ever really finished in the first place. He wasn’t so much of her ex as her current. She obviously hadn’t been able to live without him and had brought him down to London to be near her.
How Tasha thought she could get away with it he didn’t know, especially as Johno had given him the nod to tell him Freddie was back in the country and hoping to start again with Tash.
Oddly, Tasha’s betrayal, even though it wasn’t directed towards him, hurt Eddie. More so than Nora’s betrayal had. Perhaps it was the lies, or maybe even the fact he’d put his neck on the block for Tasha, going against Freddie’s orders. Whatever the reason, it cut deeply. Thankfully he wasn’t a fool to it any longer, and Tasha Thompson would regret trying to dupe him.
Opening the drawers, Eddie found nothing of interest. The closet was the same. Though for a runt like Arnie, he was surprised to see the stash of knives he kept. It was a shame the bloke hadn’t tried to use them in Bradford, instead of rocking in the corner like some kind of basket case. It might even have made Eddie have something resembling respect for him.
‘Well, well, well.’ Eddie spoke out loud to himself, belatedly clocking the fact he sounded too much like a policeman for his liking. He studied the contents of the large beige envelope, his eyes opening wider with each document he looked at. Photos. Paperwork and a few letters. There was certainly more to this fella than he thought. Folding up the envelope and stuffing it in his inside jacket pocket, Eddie sat at the table and waited.
‘Hello son, remember me?’ Eddie grinned his best smile; part sneer, part menace and amusement, as Arnold walked out of the bathroom, wrapped only in his towel. Arnie froze and turned to run back through the door, but the sound of the trigger made him freeze. ‘Oh I don’t think it would be wise to run, mate. I never did like shooting anyone in the back.’
Eddie laughed as Arnie turned round in what seemed like slow motion. He was as he remembered him to be; a fucking coward. Eddie could see the colour drain from the man’s face.
‘I don’t know if you’re a fool, or just like being damaged mate, but I know you ain’t brave. I wonder if Tasha knows what a pussy she got together with?’
For the first time, Arnie spoke, although it was barely audible. ‘Who’s Tasha?’
‘Now I know you’re a fool but worse still, you think I am too.’
Eddie got up from the leather chair. He backslapped Arnie with the butt of the gun, wiping off the blood which splattered from Arnie’s mouth onto his face. Eddie yelled, towering over Arnold, who lay stunned on the floor. ‘I told you didn’t I? I warned you mate. Stay away. Clearly I never did a good enough job of it, cos you’re here.’
Eddie booted Arnie in the ribs, bringing his foot down again and again. ‘I don’t want to damage you too much because then how are you going to walk away? So count yourself fucking lucky geeze, cos I’m giving you a day to disappear. If you haven’t gone by then, I’m going to do the job for you. I’ll make you disappear permanently.’
Giving Arnold one last kick in the head, Eddie left, feeling like it was a job well done.
Arnie hugged his knees, his head tucked down into them as he laid tightly curled up on the floor. He heard the passing traffic outside, the shouts of children, the noise of a plane flying above and the people in the corridor outside coming and going.
After a long time, finally he sat up slowly, wincing at the pain of his injuries. The man had come back. The bad man from before; but this time it was going to be different. This time Arnold wouldn’t let him take Izzy – because this time he was going to make sure she was safe.
36
‘Get up; I’ve got a job for you.’ Johno shouted at the top of his voice, amused at Yvonne’s groaning under the cover. ‘I said, get up.’
‘Do you have to shout Johno? My head’s thumping.’
‘Who’s shouting darling?’
‘You are. Now please shut the fuck up.’
Johno scowled. He barely knew this girl and she was already crossing the line when it came to the way she spoke to him. He walked into the tiny galley kitchen, coming back with a glass of water.
‘Hey! What the hell did you do that for?’ Yvonne leapt out of bed, her hair dripping wet. She stared at Johno who was grinning, an empty glass in his hand.
‘I was just about to get up.’
‘And you babe, are a mouthy cow. Keep it zipped and maybe you won’t need a glass of water poured over you to keep yourself cool.’
Yvonne got up and went to pour herself a drink. It wasn’t even midday, but she needed the hair of the dog to help her get through it. A large whiskey was poured to the top of the glass, some posh stuff she’d never heard of that belonged to one of the other girls. She drank it and immediately poured herself another one. Too smooth for her liking. She liked to feel like she was drinking something. What was the point in alcohol if you couldn’t taste it?
‘What’s the urgency anyway?’
‘I’ve got a job for you. A nice little earner for you and Janie.’
‘Look I told you, I’m fine about it but not Janie. That was the deal.’
Johno leaned forward. ‘You don’t get to make the deals.’
Yvonne decided that backing down might be the better option this time. She softened her voice, trying a different tact.
‘I’m not trying to Johno. She’s just not ready. Give her time.’
Johno sniffed. ‘Fine, but make sure you’re here tonight. I’ll tell you all you need to know when I come and pick you up. Here, I want you to wear this.’
Yvonne held up the dress. It was a beautiful cream Stella McCartney dress cut on the bias, with a waterfall neckline giving it the feel of a vintage twenties dress.
‘Crikey, this is a bit of all right.’ She put it down on the bed, turning to Johno with a slight look of apprehension on her face. ‘It ain’t nothing weird is it? I’m not into any weird stuff.’
‘No, don’t worry it ain’t. Not in the way you’re thinking anyway.’
Yvonne’s face brightened. ‘Nice one. Cheers Johno. What time will you pick me up then?’
‘Eleven – and make sure you’re ready, Yvonne. I don’t want any fuck ups.’
‘And you can do one too.’ Yvonne screamed as loud as she could as she stumbled backwards out of the Archer Street bar in Soho. Her feet were hurting her and her head was spinning. She bent down and took off her shoes, walking along the filthy pavements in her bare feet. She was tired, and she was supposed to be doing this special job for Johno. She hadn’t meant to drink so much, but then she never meant to drink so much. She really needed to go home and make sure Laila was all right. She also needed to get ready, but all she really wanted to do w
as to go to bed. Perhaps if she had another pick-me-up drink then she’d feel more up to it. Deciding it was a good idea, Yvonne stumbled along Shaftesbury Avenue.
Walking into Layman’s Pub on Brewer Street, Yvonne headed straight to the bar. There were two men in the far corner. They looked like they had a bit of money. Well, enough money to buy her a drink. She moved towards them. The taller one spoke to her immediately.
‘All right beautiful?’ He spoke with an accent she couldn’t place.
Yvonne’s face crinkled up and she didn’t bother trying to disguise it. ‘I know you’re not talking to me.’
‘There’s no one else here who’s making my heart skip a beat.’
Yvonne snorted with laughter at the tall sinewy stranger who’d stood up from the bar stool to stand beside her.
‘You seriously use that line? Take it from me chuck, it won’t get the girls running to share the sheets with you.’
‘What will?’
Yvonne licked her lips. Perhaps she could get this one in the bag. ‘Money.’
‘How about I get you a drink and we can discuss it further? What’s your poison?’
‘Double brandy please.’
Taking the drink off the man, Yvonne knocked it back in one. The man laughed. ‘Looks like you’re thirsty. Another?’
‘Don’t mind if I do.’
The man grinned, waving the barman to pour another, and turned to Yvonne who was rocking gently back and forth, a glazed expression on her face.
‘So why don’t we talk about what we were saying earlier?’
‘You’ll have to remind me, that brandy’s gone straight to me head.’
‘I was asking how much?’
‘For what?’
‘How much do you charge?’
Yvonne smirked, remembering the conversation again. He wasn’t bad looking and it’d mean money towards the rent. ‘A ton for full sex. Twenty-five for a hand job. Oh and I don’t do bareback.’
‘Sounds wonderful babe. Or it would do if you weren’t nicked. I’m arresting you on suspicion of soliciting. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not …’
Yvonne rolled her eyes. ‘Just do me a favour pal and put the handcuffs on.’
‘Where the fuck is she?’ Johno stared at Laila, his eyes dark and full of hostility. He looked round the bedroom, pulling sheets off the bed, as if she’d magically appear from beneath them.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know?’
‘I don’t. She said she was popping out to do something.’
‘Do what?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Fuck me, why do I bother with whores? You lot are more trouble than they’re worth. Try calling her.’
‘I did. Her phone’s off.’
‘Well try again then. Fuck me, don’t bother. Don’t bother. Give it me here.’
Johno snatched the mobile and pressed last number redial. It went straight to voicemail but it didn’t deter Johno from leaving a message.
‘I hope you get this fucking message because it’s the last fucking message you’ll ever hear if you don’t get your arse back here, now.’
Johno threw the phone down. As he did he got a glimpse of the Stella McCartney dress he’d given Yvonne earlier. ‘She’s not even pissing changed. You’ll just have to do it.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said you’ll have to do it.’
Fear ran up and down Laila’s body. ‘What … what do you want me to do?’
‘Stop flipping asking me questions for a start.’
‘But …’
‘Oh listen, don’t think I’m happy about this either. Just put the dress on and I’ll tell you the rest in the car.’
‘So you understand what you have to do? There’ll be other girls there as well. And when you go in I want you to go and look like you’re having fun.’ Johno sat in his Mercedes, rubbing his head. This girl seemed to be as much use as a nun on a stag night.
Freddie had asked for the party to be full of girls, which had been easy to arrange – they had enough working for them – but he’d also asked for a fresh, drug-free girl which was harder said than done. Most of the girls who worked for them were up to their eyeballs, so Yvonne had been perfect; but thanks to her disappearing act he had no other choice but to take this girl.
‘I’ll go across and talk to him first, then afterwards I want you to go and talk to him like we discussed. Make it as natural as you can Janie. Make out you like him.’
‘What if I don’t like him?’ Laila’s eyes were wide with terror.
‘Give me bleeding strength. The magic word is pretend. Janie, just pretend. And it don’t matter if you do or not. You understand me?’ Johno’s words sounded menacing at the end.
‘Yes, but …’
Johno put his fingers on her mouth. ‘Janie, will you do me a favour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
Johno locked the car and started to walk across the car park with Laila, noticing how beautiful she looked. Only on occasion did he ever sample the goods. It wasn’t his style to mix business with pleasure. But looking at her in the cream dress, the way it fitted over her curves, tonight might well be the occasion he did a bit of sampling.
Once at the back door of The Tash club in Hanover Square – the club owned by Freddie and named after his wife – Johno looked at his phone to see if Yvonne had called. She hadn’t. He pursed his lips. When he saw her, he was going to show her what happened when she let him down.
‘You ready?’
Laila could feel herself shaking, though she wasn’t sure if it was the late September night or the fear of what she was about to face which was making her do so. She was petrified. Without Yvonne she felt lost. She was also worried about her.
When Yvonne hadn’t answered the phone, the thought had passed through Laila’s mind that Yvonne had left her, and it’d taken every ounce of strength not to fall apart and run. But once the initial panic had gone, Laila remembered her friend’s words. ‘I need you to help me too, Laila. I need you to try. Just try.’ And that’s what she was doing, but it didn’t stop her being terrified.
‘Johno, I won’t have to sleep with him, will I?’
‘You’ll do whatever it takes and whatever he wants.’
‘I can’t.’
Johno held her shoulders, not too tightly, but tight enough to let her know he wasn’t messing about.
‘That shit don’t work with me sweetheart. Whether you want to fuck someone or not, it’s irrelevant now. Thanks to Yvonne, you’re going to be thrown in at the deep end babes. She well and truly stitched me up and I don’t take kindly to anyone doing that to me; especially not a bleeding tom. If you want to make sure your friend stays alive to see the light of day, you’ll do whatever it takes.’
Montague’s private club was full to capacity. The music was pumping and the deep bass vibrated through the guests. Multi-coloured lights flashed and the atmosphere was filled with people having a good time. The four red velvet decorated rooms held London’s top faces, pimps, hookers and the Thompsons’ close and trusted friends. When there wasn’t a private party it was a popular hangout for the rich who didn’t want to mix with the famous; a discreet, members only club charging a one-off fee of twenty thousand pounds a year.
Champagne only came by the Cristal bottle and whiskey only came by the single malt. All in all it was more than a nice little earner for Freddie. There was never any trouble, they all seemed too busy losing thousands at the casino table or paying the toms to share their Bolivian cocaine to care.
It was midnight and Ray-Ray sat reluctantly at the party his father was throwing for him. He hadn’t wanted the party at all but his father had insisted, and Ray-Ray had seen how important it was to Freddie. So he’d eventually agreed, not wanting to disappoint his dad by refusing to come.
Freddie had decided not to make an appearance himself, think
ing it safer, not wanting the whole of Soho to know he was back in the UK, after all he was still a wanted man.
As he sat in the corner, Ray-Ray thought about the conversation he’d had the day before with Freddie. It’d been a bit of a shock to the system seeing his father so upset. His mum, yes, he was used to that, but his father, never. He hadn’t realised he blamed himself for the attack on Ray’s face. He’d always assumed it was the Freddie Thompson ego going into overdrive that made him seek revenge for his wronged son. But what he’d seen yesterday hadn’t been ego; it was just a father loving a son.
‘Alright Ray-Ray. How’s things?’ Ray-Ray looked up to see Johno standing by the side of him.
‘Good, thanks.’
‘Enjoying yourself? Your Dad wanted you to have a good time.’
Ray-Ray nodded, not wanting to tell Johno he’d rather be anywhere but here.
‘That’s my boy; I’ll get a drink sent over.’ He tapped him on his shoulder as he walked off across to the bar, giving a wink as a signal.
‘Hi, do you mind if I sit here?’ Ray-Ray didn’t turn his head to the question. He wasn’t taking much notice. He was too busy watching Alfie Jennings, one of the biggest Soho gangsters, trying it on with a woman half his age. ‘Yeah, sure.’
‘My name’s Janie.’
Ray-Ray looked at the woman. In the strobe lighting, he saw the recoil of horror in her eyes as he turned and she saw his scarred face. He froze for a split second as he stared into her face, then sprang back from his chair, instinctively covering his face with one hand.
He pushed back into the wall, knocking the small table over as he tried to disappear into the darkness of the club. The glasses smashed to the floor. The people in the room turned to stare at him as he ran, making his way through the small crowd, knocking blindly into the customers as he sought sanctuary in the toilets.
‘No! No! No!’ Ray-Ray’s voice shouted out in distress in the quiet of the bathroom as he leant against the sink. He looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. With a swing of his hand he smashed his fist into the glass, hitting it so hard shards of glass stuck in his fingers. He turned to the second mirror, smashing it with the same vigour, leaving smears of blood on the cracked glass. He turned to the last mirror, a tall mirror hanging on the end wall and ran into it, smashing into pieces what he saw staring back. Exhausted, he slid down the wall and let out a deep low painful cry.