Streetwise

by Roberta Kray

  He slapped the cloth down on the counter, wishing there was something he could do, but he could no more control the future than he could the weather. For a while, he gazed out of the window, watching the snow fall on the street. And then, because idleness didn’t suit him, he started polishing the counter again. Time passed slowly when you were waiting for bad things to happen.

  It was almost nine o’clock before Noah heard the door to the upstairs flat open, followed by the clickety-click of high heels on the wooden steps. A few seconds later Jenna appeared in the bar, wearing the same dress from last night and with a fur coat draped around her shoulders.

  ‘Hi, babe,’ she said, walking over to the counter and perching on a bar stool. She crossed her long brown legs. ‘And how are you today?’

  ‘Good,’ he said, forcing a smile. He thought she had a slightly smug expression but it could have been his own prejudice coming into play. ‘Where’s Guy?’

  ‘He’ll be down in a minute. He’s just making a call.’

  Noah stared at the coat. He reckoned it was real, not artificial, which gave him another reason to dislike her. Suddenly, he remembered an expression he’d once heard Guy’s mother use: All fur coat and no knickers. Despite the damage she’d done, Noah had always had a soft spot for Lizzie Street; when he’d been a teenager, she had been one of the few people who had judged him on himself and not on the colour of his skin or his sexuality.

  Jenna swept back her long blonde hair and looked at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You’re frowning.’

  ‘Am I?’ Noah shook his head, glancing off towards the window. ‘I was just thinking about something… someone.’ Whenever he thought fondly about Lizzie Street, he always felt disloyal. The abysmal mother–son relationship had tainted Guy’s whole life, leaving him incapable of moving on, of being unable to attach himself properly to anyone else. Guy was good-looking, full of charm, but it was all on the surface; deep down, where it really mattered, was a heart that was fractured. Noah knew that Guy cared about him, even needed him, but that wasn’t the same as love.

  Jenna put her elbow on the bar, tilted up her chin and batted her long, false lashes. ‘Someone nice?’

  Noah’s thoughts skipped back to Lizzie Street. ‘I’m not sure if nice is the word exactly.’ No, no one could ever have accused Lizzie of niceness. She’d been single-minded, greedy and reckless. But there had been another side to her too. She had, on occasion, been capable of great acts of kindness and generosity. It was impossible to know whether her marriage to Terry Street had altered her character or simply brought out the worst in what was already there.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Jenna said. And then, because she wasn’t the sort of girl who could deal with silence, she quickly added, ‘I suppose you’ve known Guy for ages.’

  ‘Quite a while. Since we were in school, in fact.’

  ‘Really?’ she said. ‘What was he like back then?’

  ‘Much the same.’ Noah saw the hunger in her eyes, the need to find out more, and understood it. It was an irony that Guy inspired great love, great passion and devotion and yet was incapable of returning it. He had wondered if Jenna was using Guy in the way that he was using her – simply to get under the skin of Chris Street – but could see now that it was more than that. She’d already fallen for him. She was trapped in the web and she didn’t even know it.

  ‘I bet all the girls were crazy for him.’

  ‘Actually, it was an all-boys school.’

  Her red slash of a mouth widened into a sly smile. ‘All the lads, then.’

  Noah gave a shrug. He wasn’t going to tell her the truth about the two awkward eleven-year-olds who hadn’t fitted in, who had always been outsiders in a school that catered mainly for the privileged. Back then, Guy had not yet smoothed out his vowels or developed that sleek layer of charm that served him so well now. His working-class accent and Noah’s black skin had marked them out as different. They had come together for protection and companionship, stayed together out of…

  Noah was still searching for the right word when Guy came down the stairs with his pale grey overcoat hanging over his arm.

  ‘Are my ears burning?’

  Jenna turned to him, her eyes lighting up. ‘I was just asking Noah about when you were at school.’

  ‘Oh, that was a long time ago,’ Guy said dismissively. ‘Ancient history. The bad old days, eh, Noah? Best forgotten.’

  Noah smiled, but said nothing. For him those days still meant something, still mattered. They might not always have been happy, but at least they had been spent with the person he loved.

  Guy shrugged on his overcoat. ‘Ready to go, sweetheart?’

  Jenna stood up, went over to him and slipped her arm through his. ‘Are you sure? I’m only parked down the road.’

  ‘It’s no bother.’ Guy glanced over at Noah. ‘I’m just going to walk Jenna to her car.’

  ‘Bye, Noah,’ she said, giving him a wave. ‘Have a good day.’

  ‘You too.’

  Noah watched as they walked out of the door, past the window and along the street. He felt his guts turn over and placed a hand against his stomach. Jenna wouldn’t last. She was merely a means to an end – but it could prove to be a disastrous one.

  16

  Ava picked up Chris Street from outside the Eagle, waited for him to put his seat belt on and then pulled away from the kerb. She drove carefully through the streets of Soho, trying to concentrate as she manoeuvred the Mercedes through the tangle of traffic. It was still snowing and everything static was covered in a blanket of white. The people hurried by on the pavement, umbrellas up and heads down. The ice, churned up by the wheels of passing cars, had formed a nasty grey slush in the gutters. She kept an eye on the vehicle in front and on the one behind, hoping that her reflexes would be fast enough if anything untoward happened.

  The bad weather, however, wasn’t the only thing that was bugging her. She had slept badly and her eyes felt dry and scratchy. She had dozed and woken, dozed and woken, and now her head was full of the remnants of bad dreams – dreams about treacherous Russians, about villains with caved-in skulls, about dead rats with their entrails hanging out.

  Ava gripped the wheel, trying to shake off the nightmarish images. Chris Street sat silently beside her. Since they’d met up this morning, he hadn’t said a word about the previous evening and she hadn’t mentioned it either. That was okay with her. If he didn’t want to talk about it, she wasn’t going to force the issue. But what about that other sticky problem? She still hadn’t decided whether to tell him about Guy Wilder and Borovski. Despite having weighed up the pros and cons – the pros being that the knowledge could save him from making a costly mistake and would show that she was loyal to him, the cons consisting mainly of not sticking her beak into things that didn’t concern her – she was still wavering.

  ‘Where to?’ she asked. ‘To Belles?’

  Chris nodded. ‘Yeah, back to Belles.’

  It was half an hour before they made it to Shoreditch, the traffic creeping along at a snail’s pace. As they passed a row of shops, Ava noticed that Christmas was already in evidence, the storefronts filled with big red Santas and galloping reindeer, the windows framed by twinkling multi-coloured lights. The sight of it made her heart sink. The trouble with the festive season was that it stirred up so many memories, most of them Alec-related ones that she wanted to forget. ‘Lord, is it that time of year already?’

  Chris looked up from his phone. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Christmas,’ she said.

  ‘It’s still November.’

  ‘Only just. So do you do anything Christmassy at Belles?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Put up a tree? Drape a bit of tinsel round the girls? Buy one lap dance, get one free?’

  He grinned. ‘Why, are you after a spot of overtime? The tips are good, excellent in fact.’

  ‘It’s probably best to know
your own limitations. I think I’ll stick to the driving, if that’s okay with you.’ Ava waited, hoping that he’d get the hint and that he might actually confirm she had a full-time job. But the seconds ticked by and he still didn’t bite. Unable to bear the uncertainty, and realising that subtlety wasn’t going to work, she decided to address the problem head on. ‘I do have a job, don’t I?’

  Chris gave a shrug. ‘You’re still here, aren’t you?’

  Ava pondered on his apparent inability to give a straight answer to a straight question, and came to the conclusion that this was as good as it was going to get. It wasn’t the most formal offer she’d ever received, but at least she appeared to be gainfully employed. Should she thank him? By the time she’d thought about it, the moment had passed.

  A couple of minutes later, they arrived at Belles. As Ava swung the Mercedes on to the forecourt and into the reserved parking space, Chris undid his seat belt. His phone started ringing and he glanced at the screen, checking the ID of the caller before picking up. ‘Lee, mate. Long time, no see. How are you doing?’ But then, after listening to what Lee had to say, his tone suddenly changed. ‘What? With Wilder? No way! Tell me you’re fuckin’ joking!’

  Ava switched off the engine, feeling that awkwardness that comes with being trapped in a confined space with someone who is receiving bad news. What to do? Where to look? His body had stiffened and she could see his face growing redder. The call had to be about Borovski. Maybe someone else had been at Beast yesterday and had seen the two men together. Seeing his reaction, she was relieved that she wasn’t the one passing on the information.

  ‘When? Who else was there?’ There was a pause. Chris raked his fingers through his hair as if he’d like to tear it from its roots. ‘Are you sure, are you absolutely sure?’ Another longer pause. ‘Jesus! The bastard, the fuckin’ filthy fuckin’ bastard!’

  Ava inwardly winced, wondering if she should get out of the car to allow him some privacy. But that would mean standing out in the snow and getting wet, or heading over to the foyer of Belles where the massive black guy – who she now knew was called Solomon Vale – was waving in the punters for the midday session. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, not especially enamoured of either of the options. As the call appeared to be coming to an end, she decided to stay put.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I will. Ta, mate. I’ll call you. I’ll call you later.’ Chris jabbed at the button to disconnect the line. ‘Fuck it!’ he stormed, slamming his fist down on the side of the seat. He banged the back of his head three times against the head rest, and then slumped forward again, still cursing. ‘The bastard, the fucker, the filthy pathetic pile of shit!’

  If there had been a brick wall handy, Ava was sure he would have thumped it. Unsure of what to say – Bad news? seemed something of an understatement – she decided to keep her trap closed and not risk antagonising him even more.

  Chris glared hard at the phone as if that small metal oblong, rather than the information received through it, was responsible for his outburst of temper. A long low hiss escaped from his lips. Then, as if suddenly becoming aware of her presence again, he turned and looked at her. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘You didn’t need to hear that.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ Ava replied, trying to be blasé about it. ‘I’ve heard worse.’

  Chris sat back, marginally calmer now, but clearly still seething. He dropped the phone on to his lap. He was breathing loudly, the sound coming from deep within his chest. His hands clenched and unclenched, his knuckles white with rage. ‘Can you believe that? Can you fuckin’ believe it?’

  As some kind of enquiry was obviously required at this point, Ava duly made it. ‘What is it?’ She had a sudden worrying thought that whoever had been at Beast might have seen her there too, but thought on balance that the chances were low. She hadn’t been working for Chris for long and doubted if any of his associates would recognise her. ‘What’s happened?’

  He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one and inhaling deeply before he replied. ‘That bloody bitch!’

  Ava frowned, confused at this sudden turn of events. ‘Bitch?’ she echoed faintly. She couldn’t see where a woman fitted into the scheme of things.

  ‘Jenna,’ he said, virtually spitting out the name. ‘My bloody ex. Turns out she’s shagging that bastard Wilder.’

  Ava didn’t need to feign her surprise. ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘I wish,’ he said, tugging on the cigarette again before flicking the ash carelessly on to the floor. ‘I mean, why the fuck would she do that? She’s already bled me dry. Isn’t that enough for her? No, of course it fuckin’ well ain’t. That ball-crushing cow has to go and screw that lousy lowlife too.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s true? All kinds of rumours go around and —’

  ‘Yeah, it’s true all right. My mate knows someone who was at the bar last night, said the two of them were all over each other like a rash. And she didn’t leave when the place closed. She stayed there. He’s got a flat upstairs. I bet the two of them were at it like —’

  He didn’t finish the sentence and didn’t need to. Ava could see that there was more than anger in his face; there was hurt and betrayal too. The divorce, she suspected, had not been down to him, and some lingering feelings for Jenna remained. It was a cruel thing, she thought, for any woman to do – sleeping with your ex’s enemy was about the lowest blow you could inflict.

  Chris turned his attention back to the phone. ‘Well, let’s see what the bitch has to say for herself.’

  Ava stared at him, aghast. ‘God, you’re not going to call her, are you?’

  He started scrolling through the menu. ‘Why not? Why shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Because if she is doing this to annoy you, to get some kind of a reaction, then you’re about to make all her dreams come true.’

  He considered this for a moment, his finger still on the button. ‘So I just let her get away with it?’

  ‘Get away with what? She’s not cheating on you. You’re not together anymore, are you?’

  But as soon as she’d said it, she knew she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t just his heart that had been damaged but his pride too. ‘I mean, think about it at least. Maybe she’s doing this to wind you up, maybe she isn’t, but either way the one thing that’s going to annoy her the most is if you don’t react. There’s nothing worse than being ignored.’

  He wound down the window and chucked the half-smoked cigarette on to the forecourt. ‘Do nothing? She’s taking the piss. She’s making me a fuckin’ laughing stock.’

  ‘Well, it’s your decision,’ Ava said. ‘But personally I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.’

  Chris cursed softly under his breath. Then he put the phone away, quickly opened the car door, got out, leaned down and said, ‘Five minutes. Wait for me.’

  Ava watched him stride across to the entrance to Belles. He stopped to say something to Solomon Vale and then disappeared inside the club. She sat forward, hunched over the wheel, her shoulders tense. Trouble was brewing, a great rumbling volcano that was about to explode. And she still hadn’t told him about Wilder and Borovski.

  17

  Ava waited, wondering what was going to happen next. She watched as the punters rolled up for the midday session. Most of them arrived in black cabs in groups of five or six, young City lads, suited and booted, and sporting flash gold watches on their wrists. They laughed as they tumbled out of the cabs. So much for an economic recession. These boys were clearly making enough to not think twice about squandering their dosh on lunchtime bottles of champagne, naked flesh and sexual thrills.

  Solomon Vale guarded the entrance to the club, having a quiet word with the rowdier clients, waving in the regulars. Nobody argued with Solomon. The size of him was enough to deter even the boldest of men. He must have felt her looking because he glanced over, gave her a half smile and raised his hand. It was the first time since she’d started the job that he had actually acknowledged her. Did this
mean she was now officially on the firm? She smiled back and gave him a wave.

  Five minutes passed by, and then ten. There was still no sign of Chris. She watched as a girl in her early twenties, wearing a lot of slap, tottered towards the club in a pair of high heels. Ava’s thoughts turned to what was going on inside. When it came to lap dancing, she was on the fence. She had heard all the arguments, for and against, but her own feelings on the subject remained ambiguous. Were the women the ones in charge, exploiting the men’s sexual desires and making good money simply for stripping off their clothes? Or did the whole process objectify women, reducing them to sexual commodities where they were lusted after, leched over, but never genuinely cared about? It was all about sex: sex and money. There was, perhaps, a soul-destroying emptiness to the whole exchange.