Serious People (27 page)

Mickey smiled as he heard the footsteps of the man now running out of the house; he gave Seamus a nod of approval.

“Wow! You guys are like Starsky and Hutch!” Nails said, staring awe struck at his visitors.

“Seamus, go with Fame and Nails to Ricky the Rat. We’ll catch up tomorrow,” Mickey said to his assistant. “Oh and I’m going to need your car. You can travel in Fame’s limo.”

Seamus nodded, and Fame didn’t offer any argument. He was now looking slightly disturbed by the morning’s events.

“Oh and Fame,” Mickey called after the showbiz manager. “All you need to do now get us the singer, then we’re done.”

Fame didn’t respond but gave Mickey a concerned look. He must really be quite shaken up by the scene with the gun, Mickey thought. And he smiled with pleasure.

Leroy walked towards the strip bar; it was the last location he had planned to stop in at to see if anyone was talking about Robert Payne. He had already called in to all the places where he knew people liked to talk, but so far had heard nothing about Robert Payne—and he hadn’t been surprised by this. Payne led a playboy lifestyle which meant he frequently made spontaneous decisions on holidays and new love interests. Leroy was jealous of Payne’s approach to life, not to mention having the kind of money that meant he could go wherever he wanted, drive whatever car he wanted.

Leroy did admire Payne though. Robert was a very smart guy; he was always thinking, always with a plan, and those plans had made him money, real serious money. And most importantly, Payne was smart enough to stay in O’Neil’s shadow. Leroy had got close enough to them both to know how the two men worked. They were partners—everything between them was fifty fifty. But to anyone who didn’t know them, there was only O’Neil. He was the only one they saw—the name.

To Leroy, Payne was the smart guy and O’Neil was the chump. They’d once been good mates—he and O’Neil—but time shows who your true friends are in life, and O’Neil had come up short. Where had he been, for instance, when Leroy had got into money troubles? And the last time Leroy he gone inside had hit him hard. Those two years had ripped his life apart; the divorce, his money, his house and even his motor were all gone. Had his good mate Charlie thrown out his hand; helped him start again? Not a chance. But here Charlie was. When the shit hits the fan for him, he calls up his good mate Leroy—the only man he can trust. What a chump. The only reason he was here now was for the money. O’Neil would sort him some big cash for this work… and he was also intrigued.

Leroy had heard the rumours about O’Neil and how he’d lost it. That he was no longer the power he had been since his Mrs got ill. And now he’d seen it for himself. Charlie O’Neil was done; he was a shambles.

The real weird bit though was that something might have happened to Payne, if indeed he wasn’t off on some private wild party somewhere. Had it been Payne who’d called him, asking to find out where O’Neil was, then that wouldn’t have surprised him at all. Shit he was waiting to die. But Payne—surely that accountant was too clever to have got fucked up?

In any case, Leroy knew that if there was any kind of chance that Payne had come a cropper, then the story would have done the rounds in the place that he was now walking towards.

The neon lights on the roof spelt out it was ‘Si’s Palace’ and the small text underneath it explained its purpose; ‘exotic women from around the world, catering for everyone’s tastes.’ Leroy knew it had one more discreet purpose—it was considered neutral ground to the key players in the London underworld.

Si’s Palace had been around since the fifties. Its first location had been in a small seedy building in Soho, which was run by Frederick Si, a German Jew who had escaped the Nazis in the mid-thirties. Old man Si had had the foresight to see dark days ahead and took his young family to London. Being an astute businessman, Si had opened and closed various incarnations of his Palace. He was wise enough to understand the life cycle a business such as his, given the sensitivities of the local populous. But he never moved too far to lose any of his clientele. 

By the time he handed the reins of the business to his son, Jacob, at the start of the seventies, Frederick Si had amassed enough wealth for his family to live a comfortable life of luxury. The business’ financial footing was firmly underpinned, so they would never need any outside investment, a highly unusual feature in his line of trade.

Si’s financial independence had created the opportunity for a second avenue of purpose for the Palace. Because of his wealth, Jacob Si had no need for the types of collaboration with the underworld bosses that most dancing establishments operated under. Based on this key consideration, Si’s Palace had become a pseudonym for neutral ground in London.

In the days before O’Neil and Payne had established their empire, the criminal underworld of London was in constant turmoil. It had consisted of a multitude of firms and small gangs whose frequent violent disputes and turf wars would frequently be ended with a sit down at Si’s Palace to agree a way forward.

Si never got involved directly himself in the criminal activities of his special clientele; but he nevertheless knew his business had become a facilitator for these sort of discussions. And on the back of this trade, he designed special protected conference rooms that satisfied the new demand for discreet and covert discussions. Use of the facilities, of course, came at a premium to all the bosses, who were more than prepared to pay a good rate for a safe area to have a proper chat.

Leroy opened the grand Georgian doors and walked in to Si’s palace. He knew that if ever a rumour needed confirming or indeed dispelling, then this would be the place to go to find out about it. And there was always the added bonus he might encounter some hot pussy.

Si’s Palace was laid out much the same as any other similar establishment. A long bar straddled the back wall and faced a large stage, decorated with dancing poles and speakers. At the corner of the stage, a spiral stairway led the way to private rooms and, to those who moved in the right circles, the well-hidden conference rooms. Leroy had never been admitted to one of those private rooms himself but was fairly sure they were somewhere near the attic of the building.

“Leroy my friend, can I get you a drink?”

A well-dressed man in his seventies approached Leroy. The man was Jacob Si; Leroy had phoned ahead to ensure the owner would be around. 

Si was now in semi-retirement, so not always on site anymore, and Leroy wanted to hear everything from the horse’s mouth, not some barman. Leroy needed to hear all the news about Robert Payne from Si—the ears of the street.

“Si, how you doing?” Leroy said, shaking the old man’s hand.

The old man leant over the bar and instructed the bartender to get Leroy a large Jack Daniels, on the house. The barman quickly completed the request and handed the drink to Leroy.

Leroy nodded to Si. “Beautiful hospitality man.”

“Anything for a friend,” Si replied, with a dutiful nod.

Si had perfected the art of a behaving like a loyal butler to anyone of any note who was in his Palace but Leroy knew not to take this at face value. It was an act to make you feel at ease, to spend money, and to make you regard the establishment as a safe place for a quiet conversation. Despite his already considerable wealth, Si retained a fundamental drive to accrue more money—his manner and behaviours were part of the product he sold.

“Can we talk?” Leroy asked.

Si instinctively knew that Leroy intended a behind closed doors conversation; he nodded and led Leroy up the stairs. He brought him into one of the dancer’s private booths.

Leroy felt slightly offended when he sat down on the sofa in the private dancing room. He had thought he was being led to one of the infamous conference chambers, but instead found himself sat in front of Si, where he would be usually have faced a scantily dressed young woman.

Si seemed to read Leroy’s annoyance at his choice of locations. “Would you like one of the girls to join us?”

“No this is good—I’m here for my bwoy Charlie,” Leroy replied.

Si moved uncomfortably in his seat; Leroy noticed the proprietor’s reaction to O’Neil’s name. He had no doubt that, had Charlie been here, he would have been walked straight up to the best private conference room that Si had to offer. Leroy took some pleasure from Si seeming shaken by the indirect insult he’d given to the associate of London kingpin.

“I see,” Si said, clearly now on the back foot. “I would obviously do anything that you or Mr O’Neil needed.”

“Is there any new talk being chatted bout now?” Leroy asked.

“No, nothing of any consequence,” Si replied.

Leroy was not expecting anything to come from this conversation but knew he needed to dig deeper to ensure he had covered every angle.

“I’ve been looking to track down my bwoy Payne, but can’t seem to find him no place,” Leroy said, aware the question itself might inspire a rumour.

“Robert Payne?” Si questioned.

Leroy nodded. “Yeah, you know that.”

The old man looked uncomfortable for a moment. “There was something about Robert Payne; I heard it a couple of days ago. But I think it was nothing just stupid talk.”

Leroy was more interested in Si’s uncomfortable reaction to the question than what he had said. “What type of stupid talk?”

“No really, it was nothing; it was stupid—not worth talking about…” Si continued, uncomfortably.

Leroy glared back at the old man. “Talk Si.”

“Have you heard of the Blakes?” Si asked.

“Nah,” Leroy replied, the name meaning nothing to him. 

“Bad boys, from a bad family,” Si said, shaking his head.

“There’s a few of those around,” Leroy replied.

“Maybe.” Si shrugged with a sad face. “I knew their mother; she was a real beauty. Just like a movie star or a model. Janey Blake; even now when if I think about her, back in the late fifties, I get goose bumps. When I was a young man, I would help my father out at the Palace at the weekends, with changing the barrels and things like that. She would sometimes make conversation with me while she was on a break, having a cigarette in the cellar.”

Leroy smiled. “A real beautiful woman, Si?”

“Oh, more than that, Leroy, she was so much more than that,” Si confirmed, looking upwards, as if his memories were painted on the ceiling. “She worked at our place for a few years into the early sixties and, let me tell you, in that time she had numerous interviews for modelling shoots and TV jobs. But somehow she never seemed to get a break.”

“Some peeps just don’t get the luck,” Leroy nodded.

“I don’t think this was down to luck,” Si sighed. “She had this awful elder sister—what was her name…” Si paused to think for a moment. “…I don’t remember—awful lady anyway. So argumentative. And for some reason, Janey seemed to use her as some form of agent—a dreadful decision if ever there was one.”

“So what happened to her?” Leroy replied.

“What happened to her; oh dear what happened Janey Blake. Well, to begin with, our industry isn’t made for beauties like that. Sure all our women are attractive, but none are beautiful in quite the same way as Janey; beautiful women seem to attract the wrong type of clientele. They attract stalkers—people who become madly infatuated and fall in love with them. In some cases, it can be good for these girls, if they find some rich sugar daddy, someone who houses them and sustains them until their looks run out. Though, if that happens, it is generally in the first few months after when they climb onto the stage. It never happened for Janey. I don’t know why?”

“So?” Leroy said, urging the old man to continue.

“So, her witch of an elder sister recognised that she and her sister could make more money for themselves if Janey went the whole way, if she went into prostitution. And after a few years with us, they had saved enough money and bought some run down bar in Hammersmith for this purpose.”

Leroy shrugged. “At least they make their own dough.”

Si’s face reddened with anger. “I’m talking about prostitution Mr Elkins!”

Leroy moved uncomfortably in his seat, not wanting to admit he didn’t see the difference between prostitution and the services which Si provided.

“Anyway,” Si said regaining his temper. “For some, maybe that would have been alright. Janey had too much heart for it though. She attracted all the wrong type of people; before she died she’d had three sons, all by different fathers, and I think all three were jons. They were still only kids back when she died.”

Leroy’s stomach turned. He could accept a woman might chose the life of a prostitute but to actually carry the sons of her jons; that sickened him. “What the fuck? And how fucking old was the bitch when she spat them out?”

“Don’t judge her,” Si snapped defensively. “She was an Irish Catholic. Prostitution was bad enough. She could not be in the business of having abortions as well. And I think having those children was some kind of cry for help—to get her out of the game.”

Leroy couldn’t follow this logic and decided to change the subject. “Make no fucking sense to me. So how’d she afford to buy the bar?”

Si made a grim smile. “Like I said, a girl like Janey attracted the wrong type of custom, something you could see in her early days at our place. But apparently this just got worse when she got her own place. They say she had some jon who would come round practically every night and, the night she died, she had planned to tell him that she would not see him again. She thought to help get this point across, she would bring her two sons into the room with her, to show that jon that she was a mum—perhaps turn him off somehow?”

“I’m thinking it didn’t work?” Leroy asked.

“No; the jon produced a knife and stabbed her to death in front of the two boys,” Si replied.

Leroy shook his head; he had had more than his share of violence in his life but anything involving kids turned his stomach. “That is fucked up man.”