by Echo Freer
As Chubby landed on the desk, there was a sickening crunch of plastic.
‘Gordon Bennett, Chubby. Mind where you’re parking your bum, can’t you.’
Chubby raised his bottom and removed the squashed remains of Frankie’s dictaphone.
‘I didn’t see it, Frankie, honest.’
‘Bleedin’ ’ell, Chub!’ Frankie took the shattered plastic from his brother and hurled it violently in the direction of the bin. It hit with such force that the bin tipped over, spilling the contents on to the floor. ‘I’m laying myself on the line for you on this one Chubby, and I’m telling you, mate, the lads ain’t happy.’
‘I know I ain’t the sharpest tool in the box, Frank, but I’ll do good this time.’
Frankie took a gold cigarette case out of his pocket, flicked it open with one hand, removed a cigarette and flicked it shut again. He tapped the cigarette on the top of the cigarette case several times while he stared at it intently.
‘What’s the verdict on the Boxster?’
Chubby grimaced. ‘Write-off and six points.’
Frankie exhaled loudly and threw his arms heavenwards. ‘I do not understand you, Chub! When I sent the lads to come to pick you up and take you back to the yard, that was your intro to keep it shut. That pukey green, mean machine of yours could’ve been the size of a matchbox before you could say Dinky Toy. But oh no!’ He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘That’s what crushers is for, Chubs! We bin through this last time. The lads collect the wreck, you report it nicked, they stick it in the crusher then you sit back and wait for the man from the Pru to bring round a dirty great Gregory Peck. Now what could be simpler than that?’ He took a handful of Chubby’s cheek and tweaked it a little harder than playfully. ‘You, Chubby. That’s what is simpler than that - you!’
‘Ouch! You’re hurting me!’ Chubby squirmed.
Frankie released his grip and then slapped his brother, not hard enough to cause pain but enough to let Chubby know that he was not a happy man.
‘You go and open that flamin’ north of yours and the next thing, not only is the yard crawling with cozzers but my driver has gone and got himself a chopstick’s worth of points on his flamin’ licence.’ Frankie took a deep breath and walked round the room. ‘I’ll be straight, Chubby. It don’t look good. It don’t look Robin-bleedin’-Hood at all.’
There was a knock on the door. ‘What!’ he shouted.
‘The kids is ready for bed. They want to say good night, babes.’
‘Yeah, orright.’ He tossed his still unlit cigarette on to the desk as the door opened and Cheryl, his wife, ushered in two children.
The first was two-year-old Paige clutching a piece of dirty rag to her mouth, following her was her brother, Alfie. At five years of age, Alfie had already mastered the family strut.
He stood in front of his father and met him eye to eye. ‘Night, Dad.’
‘Night, son.’
‘Night, Uncle Chubby.’
Chubby jumped down from where he was sitting on the desk and leaned forward as though he was going to grab Alfie round the waist in a wrestling hold. The five year old moved to one side and Chubby overbalanced and landed on the floor. Paige giggled but Alfie merely looked on his uncle pityingly.
‘Mummy says it’s not a good idea for me to get over-excited at bedtime, Uncle Chubby.’
Chubby raised himself to his feet, rubbing his elbow. ‘Right, son. I’ll remember that. Good night.’
‘Now then, how’s my little gel?’ Frankie bent down and picked up Paige, kissed her on the cheek and put her down again. ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, Chell,’ he said to his wife. ‘That thing don’t half pen and ink.’ He screwed up his nose and nodded towards her security blanket. ‘Don’t you ever wash that thing?’
‘The health visitor says the smell’s important. That’s what gives her her security.’
‘Jeez! How can she get security from a pong like that? Security don’t come in the form of smells, do it, Chubby?’
‘Dunno, Frankie,’ Chubby looked confused.
‘Course it don’t. Look at this place.’ He leaned over and rattled the metal grilles on the window. ‘We got locks on all the windows and doors, we got an alarm system like Fort flaming Knox. We got security lights every ten yards round the garden and you’re telling me my own flesh has to get her security from a stinking piece of rag? Why, Chell?’
Cheryl shrugged. ‘I think it’s more of an emotional thing, babe.’
‘So now you’re telling me that my kid’s emotionally insecure?’
Cheryl sighed. ‘It ain’t a big deal, Frankie. Loads of kids have them. Come on kids, let’s leave Daddy alone.’
‘Some trumped-up health visitor’s telling me that my kid’s emotionally insecure and needs to be chewing on something that smells like you should be spreading it on the bleedin’ garden and you’re saying it’s not a big deal? Well, it sounds like a big deal to me. Don’t it sound like a big deal to you, Chubby?’
Chubby looked round the room for some form of guidance. He was pretty sure that Frankie had lost the plot, but he didn’t know what to do about it.
‘Here, darling. Give the smelly thing to Daddy.’ Frankie took the piece of rag out of Paige’s hand and tossed it in the direction of the bin. Paige let out a scream that would’ve shattered double-glazing.
‘Here’s a thought, Frankie,’ Cheryl said, walking across the room to retrieve the piece of fabric. ‘Next time you decide to make her go cold turkey on the whole security blanket thing, do it when you’re the one’s looking after her and I’m the one going out on the town for the night, eh?’ She picked up Paige and gave her the rag. The two-year-old stopped crying immediately. ‘You’ll probably still be sucking it when you’re sixteen, if we wait for that, won’t you darling?’ And she left the room with both children.
‘Gordon bleedin’ Bennett, Chubby. You are definitely better off being single, mate, I’m telling you. Trouble and strife ain’t the half of it! She knows we got a meet tonight. Anyone would think we was going out socialising the way she goes on.’ He picked up the unlit cigarette from the desk, flicked open his gold lighter and blew out a plume of smoke. ‘Right then. Fancy a Ruby before we meet the lads?’
Six
‘Can I borrow your lippy?’ Jenny asked as they stood in the ladies’ toilet of the Pizza Express where the boys had taken them. She turned to face the mirror and gave a shiver of excitement. ‘He’s a bit gorge, isn’t he?’
Mercedes smiled and took her lipstick out of her bag. ‘They’re both really cool.’ She was still mentally congratulating herself on having successfully picked the right restaurant. Maybe she wasn’t losing her touch after all.
‘So, that’s two hundred quid you owe me.’ Jenny was applying the lipstick and eyeing Mercedes in the mirror.
Mercedes raised an eyebrow. ‘How do you work that one out?’
‘Well, I put two quid on pulling an eighteen-year- old and you gave me a hundred to one. You’re not the only one who can do maths you know, Merce.’
‘OK,’ Mercedes said, taking back her lipstick. ‘Point one is that the bet was on pulling Connor and not just any old eighteen-year-old who happened to wander into your life. Point two is that you haven’t pulled Donovan, you’re on a blind date with him. You can’t move the finishing line to suit yourself, you know.’
‘Woooo! That’s a bit harsh isn’t it?’ Jenny looked hurt.
‘No Jen - it’s life. Now come on. They’ll think we’ve fallen down the pan we’ve been in here so long.’
She dropped the lipstick into her bag and gave her reflection the once-over in the mirror. Mercedes knew that, like her mother before her, she could easily pass for eighteen. She wasn’t so sure about Jenny though. Even with the Chloë top and Gucci sandals, Jenny still only looked her age.
> ‘Jen,’ she said as they left the toilet, ‘when we get to the club, if anyone asks you your date of birth, remember to knock three years off, OK?’
Jenny stared questioningly at her and then said, ‘Wouldn’t that make me only twelve?’
Mercedes sighed. No wonder Mr Ambrose had suggested that Jenny took the lower paper in Maths. ‘Don’t think about it, just do it, OK?’
The club was around the corner from the restaurant, so they left the car and walked. Jenny and Donovan were walking ahead and Mercedes could hear Jenny laughing and chatting as though the battery on her voice box was going to run out at any moment. Mercedes and Zak were walking some way behind. The night was sultry and Zak was telling her about his family and how his father and uncle were both merchant bankers. If, two days ago, someone had bet her that she would be walking through the cobbled streets of Docklands accompanied by the most gorgeous boy she’d ever set eyes on, she would have given them better odds on man flying to Jupiter under his own wing-power. She could hardly believe that it was real.
She checked her watch; it was eleven thirty.
‘Are you OK?’ Zak asked, placing an arm round her shoulders.
‘I’m fine.’ She took out her mobile phone and turned it off. Not that there was the remotest chance of her mother phoning to make sure she was all right, but the last thing she wanted was Chubby calling to check up on her.
‘OK, just act naturally,’ Donovan said, as they turned down a narrow alley between two blocks of warehouses towards the river. There was a neon sign ahead and Mercedes could just make out the name, the Terra Firma.
‘Weird name for a club, isn’t it?’ Jenny commented as they drew closer. ‘It’s like calling a club The Terror Company. Who in their right mind would want to call a club that?’
Mercedes looked at her friend trying to work out whether or not she was being serious. ‘Are you having us on? Terra firma’s Latin. It means solid ground.’
‘Oh.’ Jenny giggled, unembarrassed by her faux pas.
‘This was probably a pub in the olden days when Wapping was a port. The sailors must have moored here and practically fallen off the boats and into the pub and solid ground.’
‘Nah!’ Donovan interjected. ‘I think Jenny’s right. My brother says this place is run by a right load of dodgy geezers.’
‘That’s why I said we didn’t want to upset the management,’ Zak reiterated. ‘Call me a wuss but scuba diving in concrete flippers isn’t my favourite water sport.’
‘Oh great!’ Mercedes folded her arms angrily. ‘Well call me a wuss but dicing with dodgy geezers isn’t exactly my idea of a fun night out either. What the hell were you thinking of, bringing us here?’
‘I think it’s exciting,’ Jenny said.
‘Exciting? Jeez, Jen!’ Mercedes slapped her forehead. ‘Who’s the dodgiest fridge we’ve heard of?’ Jenny looked perplexed. ‘Well, my mum had a Zanussi that went on the blink.’
‘Huh?’ Then realising that Jenny was not as familiar with rhyming slang as she was, Mercedes explained, ‘Fridge freezer - geezer!’
Jenny rolled her eyes. ‘Oh! Seriously, Mercedes - I think you’ve been mixing with your family too much.’
‘Anyway, to get back to my point,’ Mercedes said. ‘Dodgy geezer - Harley Gravel-face Spinks’ dad?’
‘Oh my god! I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
‘Well, start thinking of it like that! Now start thinking what some dodgy bloke like Harry Spinks might do if he found two under-age girls in one of his clubs.’
Jenny gave a whimper.
‘Exactly!’
‘Hey, ladies,’ Donovan interrupted. ‘Chill! I’ve been here loads of times and I’ve never had any grief.’
‘Now, why do you think that is, Donovan?’ Mercedes asked. ‘Perhaps because you’re not under- age?’
‘It’ll be cool,’ Zak put his arm round her shoulder again. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested this place if I’d thought it was a problem.’
‘Just keep a low profile and don’t make it obvious that you’re not eighteen - that’s all,’ Donovan added.
Mercedes shot Jenny a warning glance and the group walked on in silence. Zak’s arm around her went someway towards placating her but Mercedes was still angry. She’d stay for about half an hour, she decided, and then ask to be taken home. Going to a club was one thing but, if her brothers ever found out that she’d been frequenting a suspect club run by some Harry Spinks-type villain, then it wouldn’t just be the management who’d be on her case. She might as well pack her bags and enter a convent now. And Zak... well, she daren’t even think what they’d do to Zak.
There was a small queue of people waiting outside but Donovan walked straight to the front. He stepped forward and grabbed one of the bouncers hand to forearm and slapped him on the back. ‘Hey! How you doing, man?’ he asked jovially.
‘Oooo! This is quite exciting though, isn’t it?’ Jenny whispered in Mercedes ear as they waited for Donovan to get them in.
‘Jen - cool it,’ Mercedes almost snapped. ‘Just act like we do this every Friday night.’
‘Hey! Dono!’ The man was the size of a medium- sized furniture van and was dressed from head to toe in black.
‘Oh my god! I wouldn’t like to meet him down a dark alley at midnight,’ Jenny said.
Mercedes gave her friend an incredulous look. ‘For starters we are down a dark alley at midnight - durrr! And coming in a close second - I think there was a guy on the top of Canary Wharf who didn’t quite catch that. Maybe you could use a megaphone next time?’ She was beginning to think that the concept of ‘keeping a low profile’ was beyond Jenny.
The bouncer returned Donovan’s friendly slap on the back. ‘You on the guest list, man?’
‘Too right, mate!’
‘OK - later!’ The bouncer laughed and waved the group through. ‘Donovan plus three,’ he called to a woman who was sitting in the ticket office chewing gum.
‘Cheers.’ The woman didn’t even look up as she ticked off Donovan’s name from a list in front of her and ushered them straight through.
‘Piece of cake!’ Donovan grinned as he led them through a bead curtain into the dim interior of the club. ‘Now, am I the man, or am I the man?’
Mercedes felt relieved to have successfully negotiated the doorman and was beginning to pick up on Jenny’s excitement. She looked round in awe. The room was small and, as Zak had said, intimate. The decor was high kitsch pseudo- Egyptian. Secluded alcoves surrounded a central dance floor, each individually decorated with mummies and hieroglyphs. Some were accessible only by small flights of stairs and overlooked the main area. A jewelled sphinx stood at each corner of the bar and, adjacent to it, the DJ box was shaped like a Tiffany-style coloured glass pyramid.
‘Penny for them?’ Zak smiled.
‘Are you kidding? What sort of a girl do you think I am, selling my thoughts for a mere Abergavenny?’ she laughed.
‘You lot sit down,’ Donovan instructed. ‘I’ll get the drinks. Coke OK?’
‘I’d like a pineapple juice over mineral water, please,’ Mercedes said. ‘In a tall glass with plenty of ice and a slice of lime.’
Zak smiled to himself. She was certainly a girl who knew what she wanted. He liked that. None of this saying things just to please other people. At least you knew where you were with someone like that.
‘Make that two,’ Jenny added.
‘I’m cool with a Coke,’ Zak called after him. ‘Full fat though - I don’t want any of that diet stuff.’
They chose one of the bays that was up a spiral staircase and occupied a corner. From their vantage point they could see most of the club but would be concealed from the other punters. A few people were dancing but not many. The music was more ambient trance than dance and most people were either sitt
ing or standing in groups, talking.
‘Now do you see why I wanted to bring you here?’ Zak shuffled round the bench seating until he was closer to Mercedes. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’
‘Caesar’s Palace,’ she said, absently. ‘It reminds me of pictures of Las Vegas - only better.’ Mercedes imagination was running wild. ‘I could start with something about this size and do it out like this. I’d have card games in the niches and the main floor space for roulette. It would be perfect to start off with.’
He picked up her hand in his and squeezed it gently. ‘I can see we’ll have to watch you once you start work at the bank.’
‘Why’s that?’ she asked.
‘Didn’t you notice the building work next door?’
It was true that Mercedes had seen the scaffolding on the building next to Boreham’s Bank, but it had seemed such an unimportant fact that she hadn’t even questioned it.
‘It’s going to be a swanky gaming club, apparently,’ Zak enlightened her. ‘Who knows, in a couple of years’ time, you might be applying for a job there.’
Mercedes smiled. ‘You don’t know me very well, do you. I won’t be applying to work there - I’ll be looking to own it!’
Donovan came back with both the drinks and his brother, Dylan. They both seemed perturbed. ‘Here you go,’ Donovan said, putting down the drinks on the table. Dylan was in his early twenties and was the spitting image of his brother except that Donovan’s hair hung in dreadlocks and Dylan’s head was shaved. He rested his hands on the edge of the table and leaned forwards towards the group.
‘OK, folks, this is the situation. The management’s entertaining in-house tonight so it’s best for everyone if you keep your heads down. They don’t like aggro and the slightest whiff of anything that might alert the Old Bill and my job’s on the line. I know Dono’s eighteen but the four of you were on my guest list, so any grief and it’s me that gets it.’