Immediately a man stood up with a transvestite boy of about sixteen and slipped through the open doorway.
Carrie ticked a small X on a chalk board behind the counter. The evening was on its way and she knew that she had to keep a keen eye out from now on. The number of workers who tried to slip one in without paying the house was getting ridiculous.
Whistling once more, Henry went back upstairs to the peep booths. He walked into a small booth and put his hanky up to his mouth to stop the smell of semen and sweat making him gag. Treading warily, so as not to ruin his good suede shoes, he popped a fifty-pence piece into the small opening before him.
A grid went up and looking through he saw Stella, an old professional at the peepshow game, gyrating around on a stool. She was tall, thin, and wearing nothing but a small G-string. Satisfied that she was doing her job, he opened the money box with a key and emptied out the fifty pences into a bag he kept in his pocket.
The smell was disgusting and as he locked the money box once more, he walked out, crying at the top of his voice, ‘Sid, wash this fucking place down. It smells like a Turkish wrestler’s jockstrap!’
Sid, an old man in his seventies, wheezed towards him, smiling, with mop and bucket.
‘I’m going as fast as I can, Henry. It’s been really busy today.’
Henry laughed. ‘Don’t give me that, Siddy, you dirty old git. If you spent as much time washing the booths as you did wanking in them, we’d have a clean bill of health in no time. Now this is your last warning, old man. Keep the booths clean, right, or you’re out!’
Siddy pulled out the mop and washed over the small wooden seat in the booth, then he mopped the floor. Unlike Henry, the smell didn’t bother him. He had lived with that smell day and night for nearly thirty-five years.
Wiping his shoes with a clean white handkerchief, Henry’s eyes widened in amazement as he saw a small striking-looking woman standing in the doorway. Turning on all his oily charm he said in his best imitation of Bob Hoskins, ‘Can I help you, love?’
Donna looked at the small man’s white teeth and Armani suit and smiled widely.
‘Henry Pratt, I presume?’
He grinned again and said, ‘Well, I ain’t Doctor fucking Livingstone, love. What are you after?’
Donna walked towards him and said gently, ‘I am after you actually. I’m Donna Brunos. Stephen asked me to keep an eye on things while he’s on vacation.’ Henry liked the vacation part of her answer, to him it spoke of sophistication and poise, but he still didn’t trust her. Henry didn’t trust his own mother; it was inbred in him not to trust anyone.
‘Well, he never said nothing to me, love.’
Donna forced her smile to remain in place as she answered him. ‘As I own twenty-five percent of this business I don’t think he need tell you anything, Mr Pratt. Now I want a drink and a looksee and then I’ll tell you what I’m here for, shall I?’
Henry wiped his tongue around his teeth and then shrugged. ‘Suit yourself, but I need proof of who you are, darling. I can’t let any Tom, Dick or Harry mooch around the place. You could be Old Bill, darling, though you ain’t got their usual smell if you’ll excuse the personal remark.’
Donna opened her briefcase and took out a file from her Talkto portfolio, handing it to him along with her driving licence.
Henry glanced at them perfunctorily and then said, ‘Should have brought along a wedding photo, only in all the years I’ve been here I ain’t never seen you before, lady.’
Donna snatched back the file and said, ‘My husband was never doing an eighteen-stretch before. Now if you want to phone Big Paddy, I’m sure he’ll verify who I am.’
Donna’s heart was beating in her chest for fear that Henry might decide to do just that. Then on an inspiration she said, ‘Or I’ll tell you what. Suppose I nip round the corner and get Alan Cox? Will that be enough proof of who I am for you?’
She saw his face blanch and smiled gently to herself.
‘It’s no trouble, I can easily bring him here,’ she went on. ‘I run all Georgio’s businesses now, even his businesses with Alan Cox, so don’t worry about putting him out. He’ll understand.’
Henry shook his head and smiled graciously.
‘There’s no need for that, love, but you must understand that I have to be a bit circumspect, what with the filth crawling all over us. Come through and I’ll take you down to the bar for a drink.’
Donna replaced the files in her briefcase and walked through the booths with Henry. The music was louder inside the building and Donna felt the throb of heavy rock vibrating through her temples.
‘These are the booths where the peeping goes on, love. Want a shufti?’
Donna nodded, dreading what she was about to do.
Taking one of the fifty pences from the bag in his hands, Henry walked into the nearest booth and put it in the slot, grateful that Siddy had wiped the semen from the walls, seat and floor. That was all he needed, Georgio’s wife covered in some wanker’s cum.
Donna watched as the grid rose up. Wrinkling her nose at the sour smell, she put her eyes gingerly to the slit. It was the size of a letterbox in length, but was wide enough to get a hand inside, or a face. She watched a huge girl gyrate to loud music, her face blank. Her hand disappeared between her heavy thighs and Donna straightened up, nausea assailing her as she swallowed deeply. But she was grateful at least to see a woman in the booth. She realised she had half-expected to see a child.
‘What’s the average age here?’
Henry laughed. ‘They lie about their age. Toms lie about everything, even what they had to eat - it’s a part of their lives, see? But the average age here is from seventeen to about forty-five. We have one woman in her fifties who we use on Wednesdays because it’s quite slack then, if you’ll excuse the pun!’
He roared at his own joke and Donna followed him along the corridor and down into the bar itself.
As they walked down the narrow stairs she heard the chattering and clinking of glasses that was the trademark of bars everywhere. Unlike the upstairs, this bar had softer music being played from a large stack unit behind the bar. Pink Floyd’s Welcome to the Machine was playing, and Donna saw in the dimness a few people dancing.
As they approached the bar, Henry said, ‘This is where the real money is, as you know. The peep’s a good front, it’s legal and smelly enough to keep out most of the Vice Squad. They want the bigger fish, always have done, though they’ve closed us down a couple of times because of the filth up top. The booths get rotten with the punters, you know. In the height of summer the smell would knock down an elephant. Some of the girls stink like pole cats, the dirty whores. What can I get you to drink?’
‘White wine and soda, please.’ Donna sat on a tall stool at the bar and looked around the room. It was decorated with pictures of women and men in the nude. Some were the everyday kind of thing you could pick up in Wool-worth’s, others were blown up from hardcore magazines. Women touching themselves, men with women; but no children visible anywhere, thank God.
At a corner table, Donna saw a girl of about fifteen talking to a man in his sixties. The girl had on a small crop top and a tight leather skirt.
As Henry handed Donna her drink she flicked her head and said, ‘She looks a bit young. Surely that’s asking for trouble, employing jailbait?’ Her voice came out hard and neutral and she was amazed at herself.
Henry shrugged. ‘She’s sixteen, love. Looks younger, but that won’t last. A few years tomming and they age overnight. One day you see them and you’re shocked, you know. But she’s a real pro, worked the Cross for two years before she came to us. Hard as nails she is, and an excellent little worker. With respect, Mrs Brunos, this is the rough end of a rough trade. That’s where our money comes from. All the men in here are regulars or are brought by regulars. We have live shows here on a Friday and Saturday, we cater for all sorts. All the whores here, women and men, are specially recruited and they work here because they want to
. It’s like I said to Stephen a while ago. If we don’t employ them, someone else will. He’s a bit greedy, your brother-in-law, and these people know their worth. They have to, to survive.’
Donna nodded. The hopeless despair around her from both clientèle and workforce hit her hard. The place was squalid and dirty and until that moment she had never realised such hellholes existed. Two men stood up and slipped from the room. Henry watched Donna as she watched the two men.
‘Follow me, love.’
Donna followed him across the bar itself and then through the doorway. In the light from the naked bulbs she saw the partitioned room, but it took a few seconds before she realised what was going on. As she walked along the middle of the room, she saw the two men embracing each other intimately. The curtain was barely closed and the younger man looked over the older one’s shoulder and winked at her saucily.
Henry laughed at her green-tinged face.
‘This is what we’re dealing with. They’re animals, love. Now, have you seen enough?’
Donna nodded and walked quickly back to the bar. She gulped at her white wine and swallowed it heavily.
Taking pity on her, Henry said, ‘I’m sorry, love, I shouldn’t have done that.’
Donna pulled herself together and said nastily, ‘It’s the queers I hate, that’s all. It sickens me.’
Her voice was so hard he believed her straight off. It affected a lot of people like that. Lesbians never bothered anyone, but two men could be like a red rag to a bull.
‘Drink up and then I’ll take you through to the office, OK?’
Donna nodded. Glad her lie had been believed. As she followed him from the bar and up the stairs her hatred for Stephen Brunos rose inside her like a wave.
This place was a sewer, the people in it like rats. Rats caught up in something they couldn’t get out of.
In the office she regained her equilibrium and said, ‘Has Stephen been in touch from Sri Lanka?’
Henry shook his head. ‘Never gets in touch when he’s overseas. Not with me anyway. I heard though that the hotel’s doing well. Candy comes here to see me when she’s in the Smoke, but I don’t hear much from her otherwise. She stays in the flats in Wardour Street. Likes the Chinese girls does old Candy, and there’s plenty of them round there!’
He chuckled to himself and Donna nodded in agreement, wondering what the hell he was talking about.
‘Do you use the flats there, Henry?’
He shook his head, his face hard as a rock as he answered stiffly, ‘Too pricey for me, love. Not only that, the youngsters ain’t my forte. I have a nice wife and nice kids. I’m happy with that.’
Realising her faux pas, Donna smiled.
‘Sorry, I should have thought before I asked you that.’
‘That’s all right, Mrs Brunos, but Stephen will tell you I ain’t never been involved in all that stuff, and I don’t want to know about it, to be honest. I leave all that to the coons round at The Heartbreaker. You want to see Christopher round there. He’ll give you the keys and the low down.
‘Now, do you want to see the books? Only I’m a busy man. No disrespect to you, Mrs Brunos, but that lot downstairs will have me over if I don’t keep me boat right in front of their faces.’
Donna shook her head. ‘That’s OK. I just wanted a working knowledge really. I can look over the books another time. Thanks for all your help, I appreciate it.’
Henry smiled gently. ‘Will you be taking this place over then, when Stephen goes to Germany?’
Hiding her surprise, Donna answered him on a laugh.
‘That, Henry, remains to be seen.’
He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Nice meeting you at last. Give Georgio my best. I’ll see you again?’
Donna nodded and shook his hand heartily. He walked back down to the bar and Donna made her way towards the exit, the heavy stench of human bodies deep in her throat. As she passed the peep-booth at the entrance, a man walked out zipping up his flies. Donna could see the flush of excitement on his face and the trembling of his hands.
He looked into Donna’s eyes, and seeing the revulsion there, his face went from a pink flush to a deep embarrassed red.
He stumbled out of the doorway into the cold of the evening, Donna following closely behind him.
The Heartbreaker was a small club just off Wardour Street. As Donna walked through the double doors, a large West Indian man approached her. He was big, shiny black, and handsome. He smiled at her easily, showing large pristine white teeth.
‘Yes?’ His voice sounded amused.
Donna looked steadily into his face before she said: ‘Christopher?’
The man licked thick lips and shook his head. ‘No, woman, I ain’t Christopher. Who wants him?’
‘Tell him Georgio Brunos’s wife wants him, would you? Stephen asked me to call.’
She saw the man’s eyebrows rise and would have smiled if she hadn’t been so terrified. But forcing a hard look into her eyes she said belligerently, ‘I haven’t got all night, you know.’
The man turned from her, his sheer size slowing his progress as he sashayed over to the reception desk. A redheaded woman looked at him askance as he picked up a phone and dialled a number.
‘Hello, Chrissy? I have a woman out here, says she’s Georgio’s wife, wants to see you. Shall I send her through?’
He replaced the receiver.
‘Wait here, he’ll be out in a while.’
Donna stood in the small reception area and took in her surroundings as she waited. The redhead was in her fifties and painfully thin. Her eyes were cleverly made-up, and Donna admired her expertise. On closer inspection she realised with a shock that the woman was at least sixty. She smiled faintly at Donna, and when the doorman went into the club itself she said, ‘What brings you here, Mrs Brunos?’
Donna smiled in a friendly fashion. ‘Just a bit of business, why?’
The woman shrugged daintily. ‘Just wondered. How’s that handsome old man of yours, eh? Haven’t seen him for a while. Then, I don’t expect you see much of him, do you?’
Donna’s eyes glittered as she threw back: ‘I see enough of him, love.’
The woman smirked. ‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, I was only stating a fact. He was unlucky there.’ She looked through the doorway into the club and then bending forward said softly, ‘A word of advice. Be careful of Chrissy. He’s a dangerous fucker and he looks like butter wouldn’t melt, OK?’
Donna nodded, wondering what the hell the woman was being so nice for. In her small forays into the underworld of Soho she had already established that people only gave you what you bought from them. Money was the order of the day and its voice was loud and crystal clear.
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
As she spoke a tall handsome black man came out of the club doorway.
‘Can I help you?’
Donna was stunned by his upper-class English accent.
‘I am here because I need the keys to the flats in Wardour Street. Stephen asked me to keep an eye open for him while he was away. I’m Donna Brunos, by the way, Georgio’s wife.’
She held out a hand which was ignored.
Christopher smiled widely. Then he said in a thick West Indian dialect, ‘Listen, lady, I don’t give a fuck who you are or what you want. Stephen Brunos has no right telling you anything, OK? Now you go back to wherever it is you come from and don’t you ever come near me or mine again, OK? You taking that on board or shall I have someone embed the message in your brain?’
Donna looked into cold black eyes, and realised that she was actually in mortal danger. When she didn’t answer, the man grabbed hold of her arm.
‘Listening to me or what, woman? Georgio don’t scare me, the man ain’t been born yet who can scare me, but I scare plenty of people - your old man and his brother included. Now fuck off, lady, before I lose my temper.’
The redhead walked out from behind the counter and said gently, ‘Leave it now, Chri
stopher, I’ll deal with this. You go back inside and leave it all to me. I’ll see Mrs Brunos off the premises.’
The man turned, opening his mouth as if to disagree, then stormed away, the bouncer following him after a swift movement of the redhead’s arm.
‘Come on, love, I’ll see you to your car.’
Donna allowed herself to be led from the foyer of The Heartbreaker, her chest tight with fear and shock. Outside in the cold night air the woman walked her along Wardour Street and into a small café.
‘I’m fine, really.’
The redhead made her sit down. ‘Have a coffee, you’ll feel better.’
She ordered two coffees. Sugaring her own, she said to Donna, ‘What brought you to The Heartbreaker? Not Stephen Brunos, love. He hates your guts. What do you really want?’
Donna lit a cigarette with trembling hands. ‘Who are you?’
The redhead grinned. ‘Answer my questions first and then we’ll see about introductions.’
Donna sighed heavily. ‘I just want to know what’s in the flats here, that’s all.’
The woman lit herself a cigarette from Donna’s packet.
‘Why? Why are you so interested?’
Donna stared down into her coffee cup without answering.
The woman pulled her face up and looked into her eyes.
‘I asked you a question - what’s the big interest? Now if I don’t find out, Christopher will. And I know him, love, better than anyone. He’ll want to know what the score is. I’m trying to help you here if you could only see it.’
‘I want to know who the girls are, working them, and where they come from. That’s all.’ Donna looked steadily into the older woman’s face and saw her relax.
‘Let me give you a small piece of valuable advice. Where Christopher Scott is concerned, don’t ever try and find out anything. Even the filth leave him in peace. Now, Mrs Brunos, you get yourself home and forget tonight, OK? I’ll tell Chrissy it was all a misunderstanding. He’ll believe me, and then we’ll all forget this ever happened, OK?’
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