by Martina Cole
‘That’s the funny thing. Alan kicked to death a smalltime hustler called Tang. He was from Chinatown. It was penny halfpenny stuff - a bit of drugs, he ran a few girls, nothing too elaborate. No one knows why he did it. Alan never said and I’ve never asked.’
‘How come you know all these people, Georgio?’
He shrugged. ‘I thought we’d already established that I have been a naughty boy. In my game, building and motors, you meet all sorts, love. I never judged them, just took their money - money that kept us in the manner we had become accustomed to.’
‘It also got you in a lot of trouble.’ This was said with some bitterness.
‘I was small-time, Donna,’ he objected. ‘I was on the fringes. How was I to know it would all blow up in me boat? It never had before.’
She sighed heavily. ‘No, I suppose it didn’t. So where do I find this Alan?’
‘You’ll find him any night of the week at his restaurant in Greek Street. Don’t worry about talking to him, you can tell him anything, absolutely anything. Explain about Lewis, he’ll need to know all about that. His restaurant is called Amigo’s. Make sure you mention you’re Georgio’s wife, OK? Let him know you’re my wife before you do any talking.’
‘All right then. I’ll go tonight.’
Georgio grabbed her hand. ‘You’re a good girl, Donna. I knew I could trust you.’
‘Do you really think he can get you out of here?’
‘If anyone can, Alan can.’
‘Say he does, what then?’
Georgio kissed her fingers. ‘One thing at a time, baby. Let’s concentrate on getting me out first, then we’ll start making plans. Now, how about a cup of coffee?’
Donna handed him her purse and watched as he bounded over to the snack bar.
She had a feeling that she was mad, that the whole thing was mad.
She lit herself a cigarette and wasn’t surprised to see that her hands were shaking.
Donna parked in Frith Street and walked slowly to Greek Street. It was early evening to the people in Soho on a Friday night, just gone ten o’clock. Donna took in her surroundings with interest. As she had driven around looking for a parking space she had been amazed at the women in the stripjoint kiosks. Some walked out on to the pavement scantily clad, shouting their wares and the delights to be found inside the small cinemas and clubs.
One young girl was pear-shaped with enormous legs and tiny breasts encased in a tight Lurex shorts suit, her black tights sporting large ladders and holes in them. Another in Old Compton Street was arguing with a passer by who had shouted something obscene at her, her loud voice, with its disgusting language, shocking Donna to the core. As she had crawled along behind a black cab full of businessmen in suits, she had been amazed to see that the girl was only about sixteen, her face plastered in make-up and her eyes unnaturally bright. Donna’s last sight of the girl was of her giving a particularly rude sign to the man’s back and laughing uproariously as she did so. The black cab discharged its customers outside a delicatessen and Donna was pleased to be able to drive on, frightened for a moment that the girl might turn her attention to her.
As she approached Amigo’s, she could smell a delicious aroma of fresh baked bread. The smell led her into the doorway of the small restaurant, lifting her spirits with its homely associations.
A young man dressed in a dinner suit walked towards her, smiling pleasantly. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ His voice had a real Italian accent and Donna found herself smiling back at him.
‘I am here to see Mr Alan Cox. I am Mrs Georgio Brunos.’
The man looked at her long and hard before answering. ‘Mr Cox does not see people without an appointment.’
Donna swallowed heavily. ‘If you would be so kind as to tell Mr Cox I am here, I am sure he will see me. Tell him it’s Georgio Brunos’s wife, make sure you emphasise that fact.’
Without waiting for an answer she settled herself on a stool at the bar and ordered a drink. ‘Could I have a white wine and soda, please?’
The young man behind the bar looked at the maître d’ before he served her. Donna watched in the mirrors behind the bar as the man nodded his acquiescence. She glanced around the empty restaurant in distress. She felt as if she had gatecrashed an audience with the Pope.
‘While you have your drink, I’ll see if Mr Cox is available.’ The words were spoken with an air of indifference.
Donna nodded and took the proffered glass. She gulped at her drink to hide her embarrassment. Not for the first time that day, she wondered if she was indeed mad even to consider doing what Georgio had asked her.
Ricardo walked up the steep staircase that took him to Alan Cox’s office. The restaurant was quiet. Once it livened up Alan would come down for an hour and preside over it, chatting to the customers and making sure everyone was enjoying themselves.
The clientèle of Amigo’s was very select, from publishing and advertising to television executives who preferred the muted luxury of Amigo’s to the shabbiness of the Groucho. It also catered to a select community of villains, men who wore handmade suits and discussed business there with their bankers and accountants, hoping to impress. They gave the place an air of danger. Unlike Langan’s, where anyone could book a table, or Del’Ugo, your face had to fit at Amigo’s. It did a roaring if subdued trade. More than one star had been unobtrusively shown the door; Alan Cox had ejected more than a few himself. Amigo’s was a place where you could bring your wife, your mother, your mistress or your business associates. The main restaurant was for smoking, the more select part was situated down in the basement. To get into the basement you had to have clout, and plenty of it.
Alan Cox sat in his office preparing the menus for the coming week while his chef, David Smalls, stood waiting patiently for his boss’s decisions.
Cox perused the menus and made notes on the typewritten sheets. Amigo’s always had a set menu. It was usually so delicious people chose it immediately. At forty-five pounds a head it was the cheapest way to eat in Amigo’s. There were no house wines here, the least expensive started at seventeen pounds a bottle. In Amigo’s you ate and drank and you expected to drop at least one hundred and fifty pounds a couple for that pleasure. It frequently amazed Alan Cox that people fought to patronise his establishment.
David watched his employer smile slightly, and relaxed. ‘These are good. You can use them from tomorrow. I have changed only two, Monday’s and Friday’s. How many times do I have to tell you I like fish on the menu on Fridays?’
‘Sorry, Mr Cox.’
The older man sighed and puffed on a large cigar. ‘And how many times must I tell you that as well, David? The name’s Alan or Al, take your pick, but please stop calling me Mr Cox. I’m not in my dotage yet!’
David grinned. ‘I’ll get these down to the kitchens. I thought the pâté was particularly good last night, didn’t you?’
Alan Cox nodded. ‘Is it the work of that young kid again?’
David nodded. ‘He’s certainly got a gift, Alan.’
‘Well, look after him, Davey boy.’
There was a discreet knock on his office door and he called out, ‘Enter.’ As David left with the menus, Alan greeted his maître d’.
‘Ricardo, what can I do for you?’
‘There’s a lady downstairs to see you, Mr Cox.’
He frowned. ‘Did she give a name?’
‘She certainly did. It’s Mrs Georgio Brunos.’
Alan’s eyebrows rose a fraction. ‘What’s she look like?’
‘Late-thirties, well-dressed - I’d say she was wearing an original. Slim, not too tall, and she has good legs. Very good bone structure, classic beauty, light makeup. And she is very determined.’
Alan grinned. ‘Then send her up!’ As Ricardo walked to the door, Alan added, ‘What size shoe do you reckon she wears?’
Ricardo paused and thought. ‘A tenner says she wears a size four.’
Alan laughed. ‘You’re on!’
Five minutes later, Donna was on her way up the thickly-carpeted stairs, her drink carried on a small salver by Ricardo, who ushered her courteously into the large office.
Donna’s first reaction to Alan Cox was one of absolute astonishment. He was so big he seemed to fill the entire room with his presence. His hair was gold, a dirty-sovereign colour, thick and luxurious, and cut into a college boy style that suited his tanned face beautifully. His eyes were a deepsea blue that was practically violet. His mouth was full. Only his Roman nose was at variance with his other features, a lasting reminder of his years as a bareknuckle boxer.
Alan Cox had earned his first real stake, five hundred pounds, at the back of a shoe factory warehouse in East Tilbury. Twenty-six fights later, he had made himself a small fortune, had travelled abroad to fight, and had lost only twice, once in Los Angeles to a huge Irishman called Rourke, and once in France, in a barn outside Toulouse, to a Frenchman called Pardou. He could not remember the name of any of the men he had beaten in the other twenty-four fights.
When he smiled at Donna, she saw white teeth, the only flaw being that his two front teeth overlapped slightly, but far from taking away from his general handsomeness, it seemed to enhance it.
‘So you’re Georgio’s wife, then. Pleased to meet you, Mrs Brunos.’ His voice was deep, clear, and although not pronounced, an East London inflection was there nonetheless. He made no attempt to disguise it. Donna felt her hand being shaken firmly but gently by a large meaty fist.
‘How do you do, Mr Cox.’
Alan Cox smiled with delight. Brunos’s old woman, he thought to himself, weren’t a bad little piece.
‘Sit yourself down, love. You can refresh our drinks, Ricardo, and hold the calls.’
The waiter bent slightly from the waist and Alan saw the smirk on his face and grinned to himself. Ricardo knew him better than he knew himself.
Donna sat down in a deep leather chair and crossed her legs. She noticed Alan Cox’s interest and cursed under her breath. She should have worn trousers. Alan Cox looked the type of man who ate women for breakfast, broke their hearts by lunchtime, and was thoroughly bored with them by supper.
He sat behind his large leather-topped desk, picked up a fresh cigar, cut off the top, and then proceeded to place it in a large glass of beer. Donna watched him in amazement.
‘Give it a better taste, my love.’ He wiped off the excess beer with his fingers then lit the cigar slowly, completely unconscious of his actions. For some reason Donna felt as if she had witnessed something personal and erotic. She hastily lit herself a cigarette to overcome her shyness.
‘So what’s your proper name? Mine’s Alan as you probably know.’
‘It’s Donna, Donna Brunos.’
Alan smiled again, once more looking her over from head to foot. ‘How’s old Georgio getting on then? I heard he got the big one. He’s on the Island, ain’t he?’
Donna nodded. ‘It was Georgio who asked me to come and see you, Mr Cox.’
‘Well, I didn’t think it was Mother Theresa who asked you to drop in, love.’
Donna was saved from answering by Ricardo’s tap on the office door and his serving of the drinks.
When he had left them alone once more Alan said, ‘So, what does Georgio want?’
Donna watched him puffing on his cigar for a while before she answered.
‘Georgio asked me to tell you that he felt you owed him one. That’s his terminology, not mine.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’
She smiled at his quick retort. ‘He needs help, Mr Cox, which is why I’m here.’
‘I ain’t got a lot of sway inside, not now I’m out anyway. I can get him a few little bits and bobs like. No drugs though . . .’
Donna’s eyes widened. ‘I most certainly would not ask for anything like that, Mr Cox, and I am sure Georgio wouldn’t either.’
Alan grinned. ‘All right, all right, keep your hair on, love. I never meant any harm. A lot of people sell a bit of whizz or a bit of puff inside. It helps you to do your time, and gives you a modicum of prestige. A lot of lags wouldn’t touch it out here, but a long one, well, that puts a different complexion on it.’
Donna sighed in despair. This man was one of the most irritating people she had ever come across. He preempted all her moves and then proceeded to lecture her afterwards.
‘If you would let me finish, Mr Cox . . .’
Alan laughed. ‘Oh, am I getting on your nerves? My old mum used to say to me: “Alan, you could talk the hind legs off a table, my son!” ’ He roared with laughter at his own wit. ‘I lost her a year ago, bless her. I still miss the old bat.’
Donna smiled, while her insides twisted with nerves.
‘Anyway, love, you carry on and I’ll shut up.’
She took another deep breath. ‘Georgio said that you would help him. There’s something important he needs . . .’ Her voice trailed off.
Alan held out his arms, waving the cigar around, its thick blue smoke spiralling all over the place.
‘Well? What’s he want then?’
Donna stared at the big amiable man in front of her, remembering that he was a murderer. She leaned forward and stubbed out her cigarette.
‘He said before I asked you, to remind you that you and him went back a long time together. That you ran the streets as children, that you were very close.’
Alan grinned. ‘We were. Me and Georgio were like that.’ He crossed his fingers to emphasise the point. ‘He did me a very big favour once, a long time ago. I will never forget that.’
He smiled at her in a friendly way before speaking again. ‘Look, can I ask you something?’
Donna nodded.
‘Do I make you nervous?’
She shook her head and said in a strong voice, ‘No, Mr Cox, you don’t make me nervous at all, why?’
Alan smirked as he pointed out, ‘You just put your cigarette out in my bowl of peanuts.’
Donna looked into the small ceramic bowl and felt her heart sink down to her boots. Among the cashews and other nuts was the glowing ember of her St Moritz cigarette.
She stared at the bowl, her face scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I am so sorry.’
Alan realised that she was near to tears and felt sympathy wash over him. He had assumed she would see the funny side of what she had done. Instead she was lighting yet another cigarette with shaking hands.
He watched her tightly drawn face as she pulled the smoke into her lungs, saw the faint circles under her eyes and the chipped nail varnish on the third finger of her right hand.
He saw the way she was sitting bolt upright in the seat, as if she had a poker stuffed down the back of her very expensive suit, and the way her left eye twitched at the corner every now and then.
This was one very uptight lady, yet he had heard through the grapevine that she was running the whole shooting match for Georgio while he was banged up and, more startling, that she was making a bloody good job of it.
She was an anomaly all right, and he decided that he liked her a lot. She was too good for Georgio, he knew that. Much as he liked Georgio, he also knew him very well and this little lady was probably unaware of the half of it where her husband was concerned.
Alan stood up and walked around the desk. ‘Look, calm yourself down and I’ll pour you a nice brandy. Take a few deep breaths. It was only a few nuts, Donna, nothing major. I’m not going to bite your head off or anything, no matter what you’ve heard about me. I draw the line at killing women or children.’
He watched her face pale at the words and knew immediately that his reputation had preceded him. He was sorry, because he hated to intimidate anyone he didn’t need to. His murder charge was what made his restaurant select; people whispered about it, and he played the part of the bad man gone straight. He was a perfect example of the villain gone legit. In fact he was legit. The fact amazed even him at times. He had no qualms about what he had done, rarely thought about it now, though there had been a ti
me when it was on his mind constantly. But he had paid his so-called debt to society and now was free and clear. It was a long time ago and unless he was reminded of it, like now, he didn’t think about it for weeks at a time. He went to his globe drinks cabinet and poured out a large brandy. He took it back to Donna and placed it in her hand.
‘Look, love, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but divide it by four and then halve it. I am a legitimate businessman, I am seeing you even though you didn’t have an appointment, and I promise faithfully, cross me heart and hope to die, not to murder you or anyone else tonight. Now I can’t say fairer than that, can I?’
Donna looked up into his face and felt a flush of shame roll over her. He knew what was wrong with her, the man could read her like a book.
‘Drink your brandy,’ he said kindly, ‘and then just come out and say what it is Georgio wants. Whatever it is, I’ll give it to him. I owe him one, as he so succinctly put it.’ He smiled at her disarmingly.
Donna took a large gulp of the brandy, feeling it burn her throat as she swallowed. Looking into his face, she gathered up her courage and blurted out: ‘Georgio wants you to get him out.’
She saw Alan’s face drop, and it was his turn to go white. Donna sat watching for long moments before she spoke up. ‘Did you hear what I said, Mr Cox?’
Alan Cox nodded. ‘I heard, and there’s only one thing I can say.’
Donna swallowed hard. ‘What’s that?’
‘I think I’ll join you in that brandy.’
Chapter Fifteen
Alan sipped his brandy and stared at the woman opposite him. She was smoking nervously. He got up and once more replenished her glass.
‘I’m driving.’
Alan nodded. ‘Don’t worry. If push comes to shove, love, I’ll get you driven home by one of my lads. They’ll deliver your car for you at the same time. I do it for a lot of my customers. Why does Georgio want out so badly? I mean, he ain’t asking me a small favour, is he? He’s asking me to risk everything for him.’
Donna shrugged. ‘All I can say is, Georgio said to remind you exactly what he did for you, though I can’t because I don’t know what it was.’