The Business (33 page)

Imelda was so busy these days that her children did not see that much of her, and for that alone, Mary would be eternally grateful. She knew that could only be a good thing, for the kids anyway. Imelda was a strange entity: was a ponce, a leech, she would sell her kids for a wrap, and yet she could still come across as Marjorie Proops when the fancy took her. It was all about how you were perceived by the rest of the world, and it had taken Mel a long time before she had sussed that out.

As Mary watched the children growing up more each day, and wondered at how they would cope with their uneasy starts in life, she wished that she could keep them like this for ever, as innocents, as her babies. As she smoked her cigarette, she watched the two children as they sat together now, their heads close and their conversation obviously of a very confidential nature. They were so lovely, were such good kids, and she prayed every day that neither of them would inherit anything from their mother except maybe her good looks. She also prayed that they would not inherit anything from their uncles either, especially their cowardice.

The doorbell went, interrupting her thought. As she answered it she was shocked to see the two men that she had noticed hanging around and about, and as they smiled at her she felt a terrible feeling of foreboding. She had been expecting this to happen at some point, and she had assumed that it would be because of the car crash that masqueraded as her daughter’s lifestyle. But even though she had convinced herself that she was more than ready for it, now the time had come, all she knew was that she was genuinely frightened and, worst of all, that she was without any real care for her only daughter’s welfare. All she cared about were the children that she now felt were more her flesh and blood than the woman who had birthed them. And she was quite happy to fight the whole world if needs be, fight until she had nothing left inside her if it meant they would be all right. Would be safe.

 

‘Basil, will you fuck off!’

He was laughing loudly at her anger, and she knew that he was not going to stop, no matter what she said, or how angry she became. And she could get really angry, she was even capable of frightening
him
when her anger finally became unmanageable. Basil sat on the edge of his desk, and looking at her seriously now, he said quietly and without any animosity, ‘I know you don’t like me mentioning this, but I feel that I have to, Mel. You are on the needle much more than is safe for you. Than is safe for anyone on the stitch as such. You are a skaghead, and that breaks my fucking heart. You are useless to me out of your box and you know that, darling. Just try and see the massive error of your ways. Listen to my advice, I am trying to help you.’

Imelda was not even smiling at him now, in fact she was outraged by his bare-faced cheek. He was a massive fucking dealer, and he relied on people like her for his livelihood. She paid his bills, and saw to it that he had a few quid on the outside.

But she also understood that it was much easier for people like him if they didn’t personally know the people who bought his merchandise. That he actually tried to make sure that they were not in any way personally involved with him. She had tried to ensure that he did not feel any kind of responsibility for plying his trade to her and her friends. But he was still more than prepared to give his bad opinion of Mel and her lifestyle without a second’s thought to the part he played in it. Now he was suddenly trying to tell her that she was a fool for her lifestyle, was no more than a mug for taking drugs. Drugs he had been providing for her on a regular basis. She was genuinely angry with him, at his hypocrisy.

This came across in her voice, and her physical demeanour. ‘It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do, OK? Can you take that on board? Can you fucking keep your big conk out of my private business? Do you think you could manage that much, eh?’ The sarcasm was evident to anyone who could hear them as they argued.

‘Oh stop it, Mel, you are looking really rough lately, and you know it as well as I do. Now, I don’t give a toss what anyone does in their spare time, but your fucking habit is affecting your work, and that means, Mel, that it has become
my
personal business. You are now no more than a fucking junkie in my eyes. You are the equivalent of one of those fucking idiots you see sleeping on benches. Basically that means you are on my personal shit list. Once I have to think about you as a real person, Mel, you are finished. You are over with.’

He shook his head in exaggerated sadness. ‘You had better get it sorted and get it sorted sooner rather than later, all right? I have heard a whisper that you owe money, for your gear, and it ain’t like you can’t afford it, is it? You are on a decent earn so pay up, because if you bring trouble to my front door I’ll bury you myself.’

Mel knew Basil meant what he said, and she also knew that without him she was probably finished. She was more than aware that her lifestyle was vital, was important for the punters she now serviced, was what guaranteed her all of her goodwill, such as it was. She not only sent the girls out to punters, she made a point of taking the more lucrative men for herself. She knew that Basil was more than aware of that, and she also knew that, as long as she ran everything smoothly, he would overlook anything that was not what he would class as a piss-take. After all, if they got a capture, she would be the one to take the main flak, it was her who would be put in prison.

She was the fall guy, that was the reason for the madams in the first place. The Filth didn’t go after the main providers, they were happy enough with the middle management. She also knew that if something like that did ever happen, she would sell him up the river so fast he would not know what had happened to him until it was too late. She had been away before, and she was not about to let that happen to her ever again.

She had used her own daughter as a fall guy that time, so what made men so fucking stupid that they didn’t think that they might be no more than a stepping stone for the woman involved? Especially when it concerned pimps, they should know better than anyone that they were the most despised people on the planet after rapists and paedophiles.

‘I might be on the needle, but it does not interfere with my job, and you know that. You are more annoyed because I can earn, really earn, and you can’t fucking get a touch near it. But by the same token, Basil, I earn you a wedge not just from me, but off of the girls in my charge.’

Basil was laughing now, really laughing at her. ‘I am trying to help you, girl, but you are too fucking
dense
to see it. All I am saying is, don’t skank at work. If
you
do it, the other girls will think that they can do it as well. And it’s drugs that will eventually get us nicked, darling, that will eventually put us all in the clink. That’ll be the reason for a police raid: drugs. Once they get their foot in the door for the Persian rugs, we will then be done for just about everything they can come up with, from procurement to living off immoral earnings, and that will all be down to you. So you either sort yourself out, or you can fuck off. But either way, you keep your lifestyle outside of this workplace, OK? This is your last chance, Mel. We had an incident last week where one of the girls was so out of it she started a fight with her punter, a very rich and very respectable banker. He was not a happy bunny, and neither was I. But, worse than that, Mel, you have been garnering debts all over the Smoke for your fucking habit and it’s finally coming back to bite your arse. Get it sorted, and get it sorted soon. You are living on borrowed time; and you’re being talked about as a loose lip. If I find out there’s any truth in that, then I will have to sort you out personally, don’t make the mistake of thinking that I am an easy target. You’d better get your act together, and you’d better start paying off your dealers.’

Imelda knew she was being given a serious warning, and that if she had any kind of brain she would heed it. And, for a few moments, she allowed Basil to have the upper hand, knew that she was on the wrong side of this argument. She knew that if she wanted to keep her position she had to go along with whatever he said, had to take it all with the minimum of fuss. So she did just that. After all, self-preservation was her middle name.

Imelda realised that Basil was not interested in her any more, that she was now classed as nothing more than an employee. She also knew that her use as a weapon against Bailey had backfired, and that she was now only worth the reputation that she had garnered as a brass and as a murderer. Basil had only been enamoured of her because of her reputation, and the fact that he had a real problem with Bailey, as did she. Bailey was the person who was calling in her debts, she knew that. It had to be him. It was how he was getting his own back on her. Well, let him. She owed him fuck all. In her mind she was blameless, she had nothing on her conscience where he was concerned. She would wait, and think, and then use whoever was weakest to ensure that she was all right, that she was safe from harm. And she would use anyone within her orbit to see that happened.

Smiling at Basil sadly, as if she was broken-hearted at his words, his threats, she saw him smiling back. He was not about to be had-over, and he was especially not going to be had-over by the likes of her. Of that much she was certain.

 

‘I think you are after my daughter.’

The two men stepped inside her house. They were large, very intimidating and, in fairness, very respectful. So far.

Mary ushered them into the kitchen, she was sensible enough to know that they were not going to be fobbed off with excuses or threats of any kind.

These were men who would be heard, and they would be heard no matter what they had to do to ensure that. She knew she was much better off letting them explain themselves in a calm and friendly manner, they were not the kind of people to be ignored. As she looked at the two men as they stood in her pristine clean kitchen, Mary felt the first real shudder of fear wash over her.

Shutting the kitchen door behind her, she smiled lazily at the two intruders and, taking a deep breath, she said with as much force as she could muster, ‘You don’t scare me, so let’s cut the fucking crap and get down to the basics. What do you want?’

 

The elder of the two men smiled with a deep sadness, then he pulled out a chair and, motioning for her to sit down, he somehow took over as the head of her household.

She felt his strength, his arrogance and knew that he was there for something very serious, and very dangerous. For the first time in years, she was frightened.

She could hear the children as they chatted together in the next room, and the sound of their voices made her predicament even more terrifying. She was frightened they would use the children to make her tell them whatever it was they needed to know.

The older man seemed to read her mind because he said kindly, ‘They are safe, Mary, we aren’t fucking thugs.’

He watched as Mary Dooley physically relaxed at his words. He saw her body deflate, and her shoulders drop at his kind words. She was an old lady, he was not about to harm her unless he absolutely had to. Even then, he would not do anything to her personally. That was why he had his trained chimp with him. But, either way, he was determined to get what he wanted from her before he left.

He sat down opposite her. He liked the décor, liked the cleanliness of the place. She was old school, like his own mother. The kitchen smelt of use, of fresh vegetables, cooked meats, coffee and fried eggs. It was reminiscent of the home he had grown up in. It had the distinctive aroma of safety, of caring. It made him feel nostalgic for his boyhood, for his youth.

As he sat down opposite Mary, he really hoped that he would not have to force her to talk to him. He
liked
her, but he was not worried about any comebacks should he feel the need to put undue pressure on her to achieve his objective.

She was a feisty old bird: she had her own little reputation, and he knew all about her struggle to bring up her grandchildren. He liked that about her, respected her for her loyalty; he only wished his first wife had been so inclined. So, in his mind, he was only there as a formality. He had to make her understand that if he left empty-handed, which of course he wouldn’t, someone else would come in his place, and that person would not be as friendly or as generous as he was. Fear was a great leveller, he had found that out at a very early age.

He made a point of not talking to Mary or even acknowledging her for a long while. Instead, he sat opposite her and watched her calmly as she waited for him to tell her what was going on, tell her why he was in her home. But he didn’t say a word. He knew the longer he kept quiet, the sooner she would demand to know what was going on.

Denny Broadbent was leaning against the kitchen sink. His heavy body looked cumbersome in the small space. He had the face of an overblown cherub and the physique of a boxer. He looked like he could hurt someone, and the fact of the matter was that he was more than willing to hurt anybody for a price. He had large eyes, and a cruel mouth. He also had the nonchalance that Mary’s husband had looked for in his workforce. So she was more than aware of the man’s reason for being in her home. She knew he was the one she needed to watch. She knew that he was the paid muscle and, if asked, he would be quite happy to hurt the children if need be to get her to discuss whatever it was they wanted to discuss.

She also knew that her standing was such that these two would not be there unless they were in the employ of someone of serious renown. Someone who had no interest in anyone outside of their particular orbit unless they could be of some use to them.

Lighting another cigarette, Mary blew the smoke out slowly then, shrugging, she asked in a friendly manner, ‘Well, tell me what you want, I ain’t a fucking mind reader.’

Leaning forward in his chair, James Marler said sarcastically, ‘I had actually worked that much out for myself.’